


Frostblood

by Poicephalus (Galena)



Category: World of Warcraft
Genre: Alternate Universe, Angst, Drama, F/M, Other, Politics, Temporary Character Death, Violence, Worldbuilding
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-06-27
Updated: 2014-04-27
Packaged: 2017-11-08 16:25:06
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 22
Words: 181,563
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/445119
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Galena/pseuds/Poicephalus
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"There must always be a Lich King…" Upon Arthas' demise, the role falls unexpectedly to Jaina Proudmoore. And she's not the only one dismayed by her 'promotion'... AU! Co-starring Kel'Thuzad & Jaina's emo subconscious.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. No Rest For the Wicked

**Author's Note:**

> Hello AO3! :D Porting this over from FFnet FINALLY. Updates once a week.

**FROSTBLOOD**

Chapter 1 – No Rest for the Wicked

Jaina Proudmoore had not been there at the Frozen Throne, at the pivotal moment. She had come after it was done to see history written with her frail human eyes when he was finally motionless and silent, and she hadn't flinched. In the armour, with the helm-  _and his head_ \- struck off into some glowering corner, it had been easy to believe this wasn't a man she had once known but some kind of machine, driven by steam or warped magic. Not a glimpse of flesh within all that metal.

She had cheered in relief with all the rest, amidst a spill of bloodied adventurers and heroes, one arm around Sylvanas' waist as though the two women were friends, not opposing leaders in that moment. They were just so glad it was over.

_Except_ , Jaina thought,  _it wasn't over._

They had known what was required; a will to replace the Lich King, a soul sacrificed so that the mindless Scourge could be controlled and not run amok across Azeroth. There had been many nights of serious talk and Jaina had listened, but she felt she had a different destiny and had not volunteered. She would lead the people of the Alliance against the Lich King and return to rule Theramore in peace. It would be Tirion Fordring or Darion Mograine or one of the other proud, tragic heroes who would take on the weight of that lonely command.

Instead, as blades and voices lifted in triumph, Jaina found herself drawn to the jagged armour. It was  _his_  body after all and it was all she had left of him. Sylvanas, perhaps aware of Jaina's intention, had let her go with a disappointed hiss, melting back into the shadows, vengeance sated. They should have known it wasn't the sort of thing anyone could volunteer for. It just happened. Perhaps Jaina made a choice, though she couldn't remember doing it. Perhaps some force chose her, or guided her, but she didn't remember that either.

She remembered touching the fur trim on his cloak.

There was a chaos of images, ideas and sensations so powerful and simultaneously real that she almost fainted, kneeling beside him, rigid and wide-eyed, and her own voice, harrowed and thin, rose in terror. That was the last thing she remembered. There were no words, no direction or detail in the flow of information, but it brought an understanding which she fought desperately, all the while knowing that there was no reversal, no change, no other destiny. Jaina Proudmoore had succeeded Arthas Menethil as the Lich King.

As Jaina returned to herself, it was clear that her comrades in arms had come to the same conclusion. Shaking, she struggled to keep her composure even as her awareness expanded to include every undead minion, every still-warm corpse, every movement within the Citadel.

"Jaina?" Tirion Fordring approached her. There was pity and horror in his eyes, guilt and a slowly-building fear-  _of her_. Jaina looked back, her teeth chattering and hands shaking.

"Wh-what?" she whispered. She felt sick. Her stomach turned and her vision wavered like a heat mirage, but she was cold, so cold…

"Jaina, look at me," he said urgently. Behind him, she was vaguely aware of others, faded shapes that moved and whispered. One came into focus: Darion Mograine, his hand on the hilt of his runeblade. She drew a sharp breath, sensing his hate for her-but-not-her and his shock. She didn't like his readiness with the sword.

Tirion stepped between them, knelt down before her and suddenly she was looking the Paladin in the face. She blinked.

"What... what have you done? This was not meant to happen," he whispered and Jaina pawed the cold stone floor with sweating hands, fumbling to back away from him. He stopped. "Come Jaina, you must focus on me." She wanted to say she couldn't but even speaking seemed too complex. There were so many things happening around her! Something small and mindless screeched her name- or was it hers?- far away and then a sudden darkness erased it. Jaina jumped. She became aware of a myriad of little unlives, all of them bound to her, all of them listening. What should she say?

"Lady Proudmoore," Tirion was speaking, "come, you must stand, we must talk. You were not prepared for this and there are things you need to know, immediatly."

"I can stand," she managed to reply and struggled to get her feet beneath her. As she willed herself up, a number of downed Scourge within her awareness also forced themselves to stand, straining to accomplish their master's desire. Jaina stumbled, a wave of nausea churning through her. "They're listening to me," she whispered in horror. Tirion was nodding and watching the motion made her dizzy.

"Come with me now," he told her, guiding her by her elbow. Where his mailed fingers touched her it seemed to burn, though she was wearing a thick jacket over sturdy battle garb. She tried to flinch away and almost lost her balance. Tirion caught her, his arm around her shoulders and Jaina hissed with pain.

"Don't touch me," she said with a sharp breath. The undead she could sense were instantly alert and ravening for the Paladin's blood. She fought the urge to retch at their slavering savagery.  _Calm down, calm down_ , she begged herself feverishly.  _Calm down?_  "It's hot," she added, "It burns." Tirion stood back as she found her balance, hands clutching her own shoulders, shivering as though in the grip of hypothermia. Beads of sweat dotted her forehead.

"Darion, perhaps it would be better if you-"

"No!" she said, whirling to stare at the Commander of the Ebon Blade. "I don't trust-" She stopped. There was no reason she shouldn't trust Darion. She didn't know him very well, but he had always greeted her politely and seemed a decent, if broody, sort of man. "I don't…"

A heavy, leather-clad hand came down on her shoulder painlessly. "Don't bother explaining it. It won't make sense to us either." Jaina turned her head, causing the world to fall dangerously off axis again, and found herself leaning against Overlord Varok Saurfang. He and the Dwarven commander of the  _Skybreaker_  had put aside their differences- momentarily- and the Horde's thundering airship had helped to transport troops to the higher reaches of Icecrown Citadel alongside the Gnomish craft.

"I didn't mean that," she said, searching for Darion among the blurry shapes filling her vision, "I'll make a better apology when I can-"

The world seemed to melt and pour towards her and Jaina found herself falling, suddenly terrified, and then there was nothing.

* * *

Icecrown Citadel was empty and echoing, and Jaina knew she was dreaming. She was barefoot on the frozen stone in a plain lavender dress she vaguely remembered owning when she was about fourteen. It brought back memories of Dalaran. As soon as her thoughts flitted to the city of wizards, the dream became tinted with violet and Jaina's mind leapt from Dalaran to her old mentor, Antonidas, to studying magic, and inevitably to Arthas.

He stood before her in the chilly hall, half-turned away as though she had been following him and he had only just realized it. He was dressed in the cold gray armour he had died in, but the helm was off. His hair was radiant gold and his skin warm and pink. Jaina took two steps towards him, a smile hesitantly breaking on her lips, and he shifted to face her reluctantly. She realized she was holding the helmet under one arm, the jagged cheek plate digging furrows into her bare skin.

"Arthas?" she whispered. Her voice came on a breath of frosty vapour. For a long moment he didn't answer and she didn't move, knowing it was a dream but pleading silently, desperately, with whatever power that governed dreams to let this be  _more_  than just her subconscious, to let it be a good-bye, a final brief touch, a reality, an affirmation of goodness.

"You spineless, thieving traitor," he whispered and reached for her with one swift movement, the warmth in his features diffusing out of him and into the Citadel instantly. Jaina dodged, but couldn't bring herself to flee him.

"Arthas, no-" she pleaded and tears welled over her lower lashes. "This isn't you-"

"You let them kill me, Jaina!" he raged and suddenly Frostmourne, unbroken and huge, was in his grip. He slashed at her with the evil blade. "You weren't even there and then you stole the power I fought and died for!"

"I didn't want it!" she whimpered and found her back against the cold unyielding rock wall. "It's a curse!" she sobbed, "It's a death sentence!"

"It was a blessing," he laughed and slowly, carefully pressed his forearm across her throat, "And you will serve in my place."

* * *

Jaina woke with a jolt, heart labouring in her chest, real tears dampening her cheeks, on her back on the bare floor with a thick fur blanket wrapped around her legs trailing off a low pallet. A single candle burned just beyond the edge of the furs and beside it sat an earthen mug of water. Jaina disentangled herself from the blanket and sat up dizzily, hot and thirsty and shaking, and reached for the cup. It was bitterly cold against her fingertips and she winced. Something in the dark beyond the candle-flame whimpered in an echo of her pain. Jaina fumbled, almost dropping the mug.

"W-who's there?" she stammered. "Show yourself!" There was a rasp of boots on stone and a decrepit ghoul shambled into the ring of light. Revulsion and hatred surged within Jaina. She could bring herself around to understanding Orcs, Tauren, even Trolls sometimes, but undead creatures woke a visceral, wholly instinctive loathing in her. She recoiled, unconsciously drawing up the arcane within herself- and then stopped. The ghoul had dropped to the floor, hands over its head, cowering on its belly.

"Noooo," it whined. Jaina lowered her shaking hands to her lap.  _Oh Light, it can speak?_

"Go away," she said. She had a splitting headache and the near omnipotent awareness that had staggered her before threatened to overwhelm her again now. The nearness of the ghoul seemed to intensify her bond to the undead creatures littering Icecrown. "Go away!" she snarled, "Get out!" It scrambled up and ran off with a wild, lop-sided gait. Jaina sat rigid in the furs, seething as panic and hate and despair chased each other around her aching head. The Scourge pressed insistently in on her mind but it was more like a hollow  _thrum_  now rather than a blaring cacophony.

"Jaina!" Torch-glow burst in on her and Jaina realized she was in a large tent. Part of her had been conscious of her location from the moment she woke- she was just inside the massive entrance of Icecrown Citadel, at the war camp called Light's Hammer. Tirion Fordring stood in the rectangle of illumination. Jaina blinked and held up a hand.

"I'm okay," she tried to lie, "my head hurts." The Paladin tied back the door and entered cautiously, keeping a distance between them.

"We did not know a Holy presence would cause you physical pain," he began. His eyes were sad but there was a hardness behind them that was almost accusatory. Did he think she had taken this on herself purposefully? Jaina wrapped her arms around her shoulders protectively and looked away.

"I apologize for my reaction," she said softly, "I was… I am very much lost."

"Yes Jaina," replied the Paladin, "but you are not alone. Come. Darion and I have much to explain to you about your new… position." Jaina nodded.

"Thank you, Tirion." He was only doing what was right, of course. It was what Paladins did. He was trying to do it as quickly as possible and it made Jaina's head spin, but she struggled to make her reeling psyche understand the logic of fast control. She needed to know what the Paladin and the Death Knight had learned. It all pertained to her now.  _You will serve in my place._

Her hands shook as she bound up her hair, a damp, sweaty mess she had no time to coif properly. She was glad that the siege camp had no use for mirrors; she wouldn't want to see what she looked like now. Did her eyes glow, as his had? Was her skin the pallid colour of an ice-bound corpse? But no, she was living yet. She was not undead. Teeth chattering with unfelt cold, Jaina smoothed her skirt and adjusted her intricate cloth breastplate.

"I am ready," she announced to Fordring as she exited the tent. He nodded briskly and lead her out past the curious, frightened, confused eyes of the Ashen Verdict adherents at Light's Hammer. Jaina followed him, staring at his back, resolutely ignoring the attention. The Scourge had installed translocators throughout the Citadel to move more quickly through its vast bulk and this was where Tirion lead her now.

"We must go back to the Frozen Throne," he instructed and raised his hands to the miasma of energy. There was a sound like a gulp and sudden cold and he was gone. Jaina had used the translocator before but she balked now. The Frozen Throne had been a prison for the spirit of the Orc shaman Ner'Zhul, it had held him and trapped him and nearly annihilated him. Jaina trembled. She had no reason to fear it. She was not Ner'Zhul.  _But I am the Lich King..._

"Its naught but a block of ice," rumbled a voice behind her and Jaina jumped, then turned guiltily to find herself facing Overlord Saurfang once again.

"What if it isn't just a block of ice?"

"You were up there last night. It did nothing to you."

Jaina swallowed. "Are… is… is Ner'Zhul still… here? Is he inside my head?"

Saurfang shrugged. "I won't pretend I know how this works. Fordring thought he had it figured out. Look what happened. Maybe Ner'Zhul is there, but he isn't controlling you."

"How do I know? Maybe he's just weak and waiting-"

"Jaina." Saurfang put down the ax and settled his massive paws on her slim shoulders. "Wait and see what happens. Talk to the Paladin. You'll know you've been mind-controlled if you find yourself staring at my weapon rather than my chest." He patted her carefully on the head, cracking a tiny smile around his tusks. Jaina nodded unsteadily and turned back to the translocator, wondering if the smile was for encouragement or because the old warrior had just head-patted the Lich King.

Tirion Fordring was not alone. Darion Mograine stood to one side of him, helmet on, eyes narrowed, arms folded over his chest. To the other side stood Garrosh Hellscream, looking equally uninviting and exuding uncomplicated hatred. Jaina stood her ground, weaving slightly on her feet.

"The Frozen Throne was the Lich King's cage," began Fordring, "and within it he was restrained. Now it is sundered." He turned aside and Jaina's mouth went suddenly dry as she glimpsed what was heaped on the ice behind him. "This is the Helm of Domination," he said and held up the grim armoured mask that had become the face of Arthas Menethil as Azeroth would remember him. "It was made by demon magic, crafted to hold the will of Ner'Zhul and contained the power of the Lich King. We assumed that upon the demise of Arthas' shell, the next Lich King would be he that donned this helm but that power was released and held in you, Jaina Proudmoore, though we do not understand the mechanism. It is imperative that you to learn to control the Scourge and we believe this will help you."

Jaina continued staring at the helm, perched between Fordring's pale hands. The last time she had seen it, it contained Arthas' head, though it was no longer joined to his body. She raised a finger hesitantly. "You… want me to  _wear_  it?" she whispered.

"That's the idea," growled Hellscream. Jaina didn't remove her gaze from the helm.

"But I…"

"You  _must_  control them, Jaina," said Darion Mograine fiercely. "Already there are packs of geists hunting across Icecrown, tearing at any who cross their path!"

_But that would be like touching them_ , she wanted to say.  _That would mean I am one of them!_

"It may have been that the only reason Azeroth was not overcome by the Scourge was some shred of goodness in Arthas still holding them in check," added Fordring quietly, holding out the helm. His eyes met hers and Jaina looked away, a lump in her throat the had nothing to do with Scourge-induced nausea. Uther Lightbringer's spirit, trapped inside Frostmourne, had told her the same once not so long ago. She had clung to those words as she and Sylvanas raced from the Halls of Reflection to the Frozen Throne. She took the piece from his hands wordlessly, closed her eyes and settled the armour over her head. She was surprised how well it fit; Arthas hadn't been a small man and Jaina was rather on the petite side. Then again, if it was made to fit the Lich King perhaps it adjusted depending on the shell that power wore. Jaina opened her eyes and blinked. There was a bright misty haze suffusing everything.

The three men were peering at her with varying expressions of expectation, Fordring earnestly, Mograine with a frown and Hellscream with impatience.

"Well?" grunted the Orc.

"Everything looks glowy," she said and held up her hand. The ache of awareness diminished and the soft glow soothed her spirit. Shafts of light spilled between her fingers from no discernible source. "I don't know what I'm seeing." Jaina turned, gazing up the ice-crusted walls, then looked at the looming form of the Throne. The haze sparkled everywhere in her vision, though it was less bright on the three men.

"Contact the Scourge," urged Mograine, fingers tensing and relaxing on the hilt of his weapon. Jaina scowled. Everything here was hers, everything at her beck and call. She could feel each of the undead in the Citadel- there weren't many remaining- and those roaming the glacier beyond. To her surprise, her awareness extended beyond even Icecrown and she slowly picked her way through the towering heights of the Storm Peaks, shocking Val'kyr and ghouls and frostwyrms with her slow, deliberate census. She could see through their eyes if she tried, feel the pull of arctic wind on tattered wings and the sting of driven snow on blue-tinted cheeks.

"I can see… everything," she murmured, awed.

"Command them," Mograine persisted and she turned, eyes narrowing.

"No," she replied emphatically. "I don't understand this yet, so I will do nothing. They feel me. They acknowledge me. That is enough," she said and she saw Fordring's eyes widen, Hellscream's lips rise in a snarl and Mograine take a small step backward. "I was trained by the Kirin Tor," she continued, unaware her voice had become vast and hollow, "never to play havoc with forces I didn't understand. Just because you  _can_  command it doesn't mean you should." Slowly she withdrew her presence from the vast legions of the Scourge, reeling her consciousness back into herself. Then she lifted the helm off and set it gently on the ground at her feet.

Tirion stepped forward again. "I believe your choice was wise, Lady Proudmoore. There will be time enough for you to learn the ways of this terrible power-"

"Will there?" interrupted Hellscream, "Or will her mind be devoured by Ner'Zhul's demon magic just like the Paladin's?" The Orc stabbed a finger at Jaina. "We should force her into the Throne and seal her away, not teach her so she can turn on us!"

"Arthas chose his path," said Jaina deliberately. "There was madness in him, and violence and a will to dominate. I will not make rash decisions, nor will I refuse to hear wise council from trusted allies."

"You say that now, while your mind is still your own," countered Hellscream.

"Yes," snapped Mograine, "she does. We don't know how this power works, but we know where it resides now, at this moment. Lady Proudmoore was chosen for some reason. Rather than lock her up, I would see what a level head can do with this strength. What she said makes sense: if she can learn what this power is, then she can learn what to use and what to leave be." Jaina turned to him in surprise, wanting to thank the Death Knight commander for his support.

"You broke your pact with one Lich King- you would forge another with this one?" Hellscream spat. "You put this power in the hands of a human and only death will come of it."

"Overlord, that is enough!" rumbled Fordring, "This was our joint decision. Imprisoning Jaina will do nothing! We need a mind in command of the Scourge." He turned away from the glowering Orc and approached Jaina again. "I will stay with you while you practice controlling the powers the helm possesses, and we must jointly plan how best to confine- or destroy- the Scourge." Jaina nodded minutely. Truly, the sense of omnipotence that the armour bestowed on her was frightening and unwanted. Darion Mograine took this as a cue to depart, marching smartly to the transporter. Hellscream tarried, eyeing Jaina with open distrust, but finally followed the Commander of the Ebon Blade.

This time she was better prepared for the effects when she settled the fur-padded helmet over her head. She noticed the diffuse light that haloed everything came from the Citadel itself mostly, although when she examined her hands, it seemed to leak from around her fingernails as well.

"Lady Jaina," said Fordring, bringing her back to her task. "See how far your awareness reaches," he suggested and Jaina began to crawl her vision outwards from Icecrown. Again she found a frostwyrm and paused, hovering in its consciousness as the beast soared effortlessly over precipices that made her gasp even though she sat kilometers distant. Its mind was a blank with one directive: destroy the living. That order had been drilled into the creatures very resurrection; it had been raised in undeath for one purpose alone.

"We must kill the frostwyrms," she murmured and was vaguely aware of the Paladin nodding.

She rode the dragon's consciousness over the border into Zul'Drak and then freed herself, pulling back to a broad, inclusive perspective. There were undead here too, in a pitched battle with the Argent Dawn. The Scourge were losing but they strove even more vigorously when they felt the chill hand of their god among them.

_No,_  Jaina seethed,  _it is time for true death._  She groped at the collective awareness of the battling undead and willed them to stand down, flinching in distaste with each and every touch of their base, ravenous minds. There was a moment where time seemed to trip, where every Scourge paused as though hearing some distant order, and then they ignored it. The Argent Dawn battled on.

Jaina yanked herself away, fleeing the hundreds of little mindless existences in her consciousness and floundered west, desperate to leave the battlefield and the grasping worship of the Scourge. She swept from corpse to corpse, using the dead and the undead to propel herself like handholds across the vista.

"Where are you now?" asked Fordring quietly.  _He must be watching my expressions_ , she thought suddenly and unfocused her eyes from the snowswept terrain, glimpsing the Paladin's bearded face briefly, as though through mist.

"In snow," she replied, fumbling about herself for recognition. There, a shape through the icefog, a blunt, massive object, something she knew as both Jaina Proudmoore and the Lich King- "Naxxramas," she said.

The flying necropolis had been under siege incessantly almost from the moment it had taken up residence in Northrend. It had finally fallen, quite literally, only six days before the Lich King himself. Now, Jaina found herself presiding over another bitter battle and again the Scourge were taking the brunt. Those that remained had blockaded themselves behind the crashed ziggurat, using the debris from its walls to cut off the legions of adventurers and Ashen Verdict adherents that fought to demolish them. They were backed against the impassable grade of the Storm Peaks to the east and south, and with the bulk of Naxxramas blocking any advance from the west, it was a fortified but suicidal place to make a last stand. The Scourge were out-numbered and uncoordinated. There did not appear to be any solid chain of command and most of them were fighting mindlessly, heedless of direction or comrades.

Jaina took advantage of that and urged one of the larger abominations towards the debris-barrier, ordering it to pull the wall down.  _Flee!_  she whispered but the creature hesitated, looking around, peering into the sky, confused. It took a single step toward the wall.  _Yes!_  said Jaina, but then it whipped the length of rusty chain it held and sank the hook into an elven rogue who had managed to scale the barricade unseen. Jaina had seen him; the abomination had not looked at the elf, but it knew he was there because Jaina knew. She covered her mouth with both hands, horrified. Arrows and fireballs and lightning swarmed over the abomination then, as the rogue's friends mounted the wall in furious grief. She drew back and watched the victorious living make a breach, shouting to one another, keeping in tight groups and warding their peers. Jaina watched, stunned with guilt.

"What is it?" asked Fordring.

"We will triumph," she said shakily, "the last resistance from Naxxramas are falling at this moment." She paused. "They had built a wall... the Ashen Verdict has broken through it. Our heroes will corner those that remain. The Scourge... won't heed me. They hear but they don't do as I tell them. They are utterly without thought or guidance."

"Who told them to build the wall, then?" asked the Paladin, his thick brows furrowed. Jaina paused and swept her will back and forth across the few remaining Scourge.

"I don't know. They're panicked and have little mind to speak of as it is." But it was a good question. It wasn't a random collection of rocks pushed into the approximation of a barrier; it was a carefully planned and structured obstacle. Jaina narrowed her eyes.

"Whoever directed them must be dead. One of the commanders of Naxxramas, I assume. There is no one left with the capacity to plan such a thing." As she said it, she noticed a geist, sprinting for its unlife, hurl itself up the steep side of the necropolis, scrabbling for handholds, then skitter along a crumbling ledge that took it around the corner of the ziggurat. Jaina followed.

The geist slid down the broken edifice and landed in the snow with a hard 'plop'. It rolled to its feet, cast about itself wildly and galloped off eastward.

"I'm following one that managed to escape," she said and stayed with the fleeing Scourge until it slowed and stopped. It turned in circles, confused and then ambled away, apparently satisfied with its safety. "if it got away, then others must have."

"Whoever ordered that wall built," rumbled Fordring. "Find them, Jaina."

* * *

Resurrection, although immensely useful, was difficult, unnatural and justifiably rare. That which was dead should remain dead and submit to the order of rot and reintegration, spreading its matter and energy to other living things. But the act of resurrection defied that order, withdrew flesh from the mouth of decomposition, returned breath to flaccid lungs and warmth to cooling blood. It was a plethora of confusion and incoherence for a living creature. They woke gasping to the knowledge that decay started immediately following death, that they were only so much food and grease and calcium. It was the stuff of nightmares.

For a lich, it was a little different being that they were undead to begin with. It was part of their life-cycle, so to speak, to suffer death and resurrection repeatedly. They were made for it. It did not make the experience more pleasant.

Kel'Thuzad, founder of the Cult of the Damned, right hand of the Lich King and Lichlord of Naxxramas, had been killed and resurrected several times. He found it inconvenient to die. It was also humiliating, especially now that adventurers had taken to testing their prowess by attempting to slay him in less than formidable numbers. And it was time-consuming since it necessitated a group of dedicated necromancers who would have been ordered to flee far and swiftly upon attack lest their services be required.

Unfortunately for the Archlich, when he re-animated this time, cursing first the band of adventurers who had no doubt earned themselves lasting fame by destroying his physical form, and second everything else he could think of, he realized that something was profoundly wrong with the world. He was alone, save for six necromancers- the absolute minimum number needed to complete the ritual. He was miles from Naxxramas somewhere in enemy territory, and he was utterly, disturbingly,  _mentally_  alone. There was a deafening silence where his connection to the Lich King should have been. The necromancers, his personal elite the Thuzadin, seemed as unnerved as the lich, though they knew better than to speak it.

_Master?_  Kel'Thuzad waited patiently for a response to his query; likely his King had something more important to attend to than reassuring his subject that he was alive. Likely too that he was rightfully irritated with Kel'Thuzad for allowing Naxxramas to fall a second time, but there was no response, not even the echo of acknowledgment.

Kel'Thuzad had been the Lich King's minion for a long time. He had heard fear through their link, raw fury, physical agony, desperation, brazen triumph and creeping sadism. He had never heard silence. A terrible suspicion began to unfold before him.

_Master, where are you?_

One did not pester the Lich King, even one who was generally considered to be that entity's only 'friend'. He hovered inches above the snow, motionless, thinking. There had been adventurers and heroes assaulting Icecrown, pushing slowly through the Scourge's defenses. It was a grueling, bloody struggle for the living. When one of their own fell, they were forced to either torch the corpse to ash or risk seeing their ally rise against them. It took a grim toll on the collective psyche of the Ashen Verdict and their supporters and made their incursion that much more costly.

Naxxramas, simultaneously, had been under attack without respite. For the most part, Kel'Thuzad was not troubled by these incidents- most of his work was done either in his chamber or at staging points outside the necropolis which he could teleport to. In recent weeks however, he found himself occupied full-time rebuilding fallen Scourge and occaisonally decimating parties of surprising tenacity that made it to some important location within his domain. And then this past week, one group of heroes had systematically demolished each wing of Naxxramas, eluding destruction in a running battle that Kel'Thuzad himself had lead. The adventurers had not slept for six days straight and it had cost them fully half their original number.

But they had managed to bring down Sapphiron, holding the lich off at the same time. And when they finished with the frostwyrm- tattered, bloodied, staggering, grieving, nearly catatonic with fatigue and horror- the remaining twelve had bested him and Kel'Thuzad was banished back to the brief, hazy sleepwalk of lich-death. Really, if the Lich King was annoyed with him, he fully deserved it.

_Master, I am here! I wait for your command!_  There was no severing that connection save through the death of the one who wrought it and as Kel'Thuzad waited, forcefully quelling his rising panic, he began to despair.

"What news is there from Icecrown?" he asked his minions finally. The six Thuzadin, four men and two women, were seated in various attitudes of exhaustion around him in a circle. As soon as he spoke, one of them struggled to his feet.

"Dire news, my lord," stammered the man. "Our master, our King..."

"Has been slain, hasn't he?" hissed Kel'Thuzad. The man nodded. Another of the Thuzadin stood. Unlike the other five, who wore the black and purple robes specific to their rank, this woman wore shining plate and the white tabard of the Argent Dawn. It was smudged with grime and blood and Kel'Thuzad thought it looked better that way.

"Our lord was murdered," she whispered, "assassinated at the Frozen Throne."

"How?"

"They- they say the souls that Frostmourne had devoured broke free and tormented him to distraction. One of those was the soul of Prince Arthas' father and it freed Tirion Fordring from the prison where our Lord had trapped him. The Paladin resurrected a party of adventurers our Lord had dispatched and they... they killed him, master." The spy folded her hands and lowered her eyes to the snow. Kel'Thuzad straightened.

"No," he said, frosty voice slithering out between inhuman fangs, "our master does not know death. The Lich King  _is_  death. The Lich King is immortal. These foolish adventurers have only murdered his physical vessel." The Thuzadin shifted, looking up, dark hope taking over their tired expressions.

"When will he return?" asked one.

"How will we know?"

"Silence," murmured the lich, "I will know. Leave me now. Seek out all the living among the Cult and convene them in hiding." The Thuzadin rose, stiffly, obediently, and melted into the landscape leaving the lich to his plotting. Kel'Thuzad pursued the link once again, listening intently.

_We await your command_.

There was utter silence for nearly half an hour, during which Kel'Thuzad began to pace, flitting to and fro over the snow, leaving no trace of his movement. With each passing minute, he felt his strength returning. It would be days before he was in fighting form again, but his mind never dulled.

Then, without warning, the mental link bloomed with connection. The being he sensed at the other end was something fluttering and scared, something uncollected, untried, unfamiliar but blazing with arcane power. He slammed down on the link, concealing himself from psychic inspection, paranoia suddenly overwhelming him.  _The Lich King was created by the Burning Legion- have they taken back control of their rogue minion at last? I will not answer to some half-trained warlock!_

**Who are you? Why can you talk to me? None of the others do.**

This was certainly not a minion of the Burning Legion, Kel'Thuzad decided immediately. So many emotions, so much disarray; it had none of the control or finesse that Kel'Thuzad was accustomed to but at the same time it was unequivocally the same power that had called him north so many years ago. That swirl of emotion though, he recognized that: this being still had a soul, an uncorrupted, painfully noble soul.  _Master, what do you wish of me?_  There was a stretch of silence while the presence recoiled.

**Who are you? I demand your name!**

And Kel'Thuzad found he could resist this presence. It wasn't because the being  _couldn't_  psychically pick him up and wring him out, it was because it  _wouldn't_. It didn't know or it couldn't comprehend, or perhaps, he thought as he mused on its request for his name, it couldn't stomach the idea.

_I am your servant,_  he replied hesitantly.  _You forged this bond, Master, so we could communicate at distance. What has happened? What have you become?_

**I will not discuss anything with you.**  The link abruptly went dead again. Kel'Thuzad hastily made certain his own telepathic shields were impenetrable. They would have been transparent to the Lich King- indeed he would never have used such a tactic with his former master- but this new host poked around them helplessly, baffled and effectively repelled.

_I must go to Icecrown..._


	2. All Alone in the Night

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to the mighty Iubdana for letting me borrow Anu'Shukhet's name for this story :)

Jaina did not like the idea of Scourge who could hide themselves.

"I had assumed that all of the Scourge were slaved to the Lich King's will," murmured Fordring after she related her telepathic encounter. ''That you can be denied and avoided is... unforeseen," he finished. Jaina thought he might have meant to say 'unfortunate' and she agreed. 'Scary' was also a good word. She shook her head wearily.

"I tried, Highlord. It could keep me out of its head somehow. And there were no other undead around so I couldn't see it from  _outside_. I might be able to break through its psychic shields with practice," she suggested, "or find a way around them. I've only been at this for a few hours."

"You're right," he sighed and rubbed his forehead. Jaina frowned. The Paladin was old and tired and weary of suffering. It showed in every inch of him and every motion and Jaina wondered how she had never noticed before. His skin sagged and wrinkled, his muscles twitched and burned, his bones ached and withered within him. Jaina blinked rapidly to dispel the pallor of death she saw wrapped around the old man and looked away.

"Come Tirion," she said. "You played a tremendous role in the battle yesterday and you look exhausted. You should rest. Surely Highlord Mograine can manage the affairs of the Ashen Verdict for one day?" she suggested with cheer she didn't feel. The Paladin's shoulders slumped in acquiescence.

"You speak truth," said Fordring heavily, "I am not so young as I once was. Take the helm with you, Jaina. The quicker you master your powers, the better chance you have of resisting any sort of invasion, mental or otherwise." Jaina complied though she carried the helm as gingerly as possible, disliking every frozen inch of it. They returned together through the translocator to the lowest level of the Citadel. She looked up at the high black ceiling and the stark, forbidding architecture and sighed.  _It's depressing just to look at it!_  Fordring set off towards his own tent but returned to her a moment later with Darion Mograine in tow.

"Lady Proudmoore," said the Paladin, "the young Highlord would speak with you." He nodded and retreated again, walking just a little faster, hoping no one would accost him before he reached his bedroll.

"Highlord," said Jaina and made a slight bow. He grimaced.

"Given your position, I think the formality is unnecessary," Mograine said.

"Nonsense," replied Jaina, "You are a hero of Azeroth and of the Alliance, and deserving of my respect. Now, please, of what did you wish to speak?" Mograine leaned back just slightly and she thought she saw a tiny smile flit across his cold lips.

"My Lady," he began, "I will be frank. Your new power... un-nerves us. Although the Knights of the Ebon Blade broke from the Lich King's will and turned against him, we can still  _feel_  you. He was easy to hate. It was straight-forward revenge. But you..." He paused. "We were wrong when we predicted that the next Lich King would be the person to don the Helm of Domination, and for myself, I doubt anyone could truly predict what that power would do. But I trust Jaina Proudmoore," he continued, "You too were a hero of Azeroth and I want to believe that your righteousness would not be taken from you easily. You stood strong where Arthas faltered once." He cleared his throat and went on, clearly uncomfortable.

"When I was promoted to my command at Acherus, I was given a team of sub-commanders, half of whom chose to remain allied to the previous Lich King when the Ebon Blade rebelled. Expelling them was predictably bloody. Your situation now seems familiar and I thought you might need a few people you can trust. I've spoken to my knights and there are three who offered their service to you in a gesture of good will between Acherus and the new ruler of Icecrown."

"I am honoured," said Jaina, her courtly training automatically leaping to the fore even as her rational mind stalled. In truth, she could not have been more touched by Mograine's thoughtfulness, and by the willingness of his knights to resume their employment with the power they had chosen to break from at such a cost before. He, more than anyone she could name, could understand the position she now found herself in and her heart lifted.

Mograine extended a hand into the darkness behind him and Jaina watched three people step forward. One of them gave her a smart Stormwind salute; the other two crossed their arms over their chest in a Horde vow of loyalty.

"I am Martin Starkweather," said the first, a broad-shouldered human man with curly brown hair. "We will serve you freely, Lady Jaina. I was at the Battle of Hyjal and I saw your strength first-hand. I would be proud to follow you once again." Jaina found herself shaking his hand. "This is my squad. May I present Xochi of Sen'Jin and Kagra Strangleheart." Xochi was a characteristically lanky male Troll; Kagra an uncharacteristically willowy female Orc. Each of them greeted her in turn, neither of them hesitant.

Jaina bowed her head again.

"Thank you for offering your service, especially in light of the ordeal you have undergone."

Mograine adjusted his cloak. "They are the only Knights of the Ebon Blade who will remain in Icecrown," he continued, "The memory of our betrayal is too fresh and although the power that used and enslaved us now lives in you, it is too bitter a chore to remain here. Starkweather will be our ambassador."

Jaina's tentative positivity disappeared as quickly as it had come. Of course Mograine would want nothing to do with her. She embodied the source of so much suffering, for him and his Death Knights. Jaina sighed inwardly and nodded.

"I understand, and bear you no ill will for your choice," she replied, hiding the dull edge of hurt in her voice behind diplomacy. Mograine bowed to her.

"Thank you. We will stay in our capacity as half of the Ashen Verdict until the Argent Dawn feels they can finish the task of eradicating the Scourge. It is their greatest goal and I wouldn't take it from them. We've had our vengeance; they must get theirs." He gave a stiff nod, avoiding her eyes, and left briskly.

Jaina squared her shoulders and turned to address the three Death Knights, crushing her disappointment with words of reason and practicality.  _I can't blame him, really._

"I would ask you to make yourselves comfortable but I'm still in the process of attempting that myself," she began.

"Bit chaotic, isn'it?" said the Orc, Kagra, looking around at the sprawl of weapons, armour, rolled up tents, lengths of rope, caltrops, bits of rock and splinters of wood, broken shields, discarded items of clothing, and a hundred other odds and ends that had gathered haphazardly at Light's Hammer. The only real organization was to the pathways between the debris, which allowed the siege to move forward. Added to the junk were the front doors: one had been battered off its hinges by the ram, which now lay propping open the other. Ashen Verdict adherents hurried around, tracking snow and dirt and blood into the Citadel.  _And I'm supposed to_ live _in this?_  thought Jaina.

"Quite," she muttered, then continued, "I would like to get those doors back on. It's freezing in here. And I would like to know how long the Ashen Verdict plans to camp there- they are welcome of course but it makes the entrance somewhat impassable. I would like to find somewhere to put them up but I fear the rooms are... uninhabitable at the moment."

"I'll help get dem out of your way," volunteered the Troll.

"Thank you," said Jaina.

"My talents serve best as a scout," said the Orc, "but for now I will put them to use surveying the Citadel." Jaina nodded to her. The woman strode off, long black braid swinging behind her.

"An' what you be doin' den, Commander?" asked the Troll, turning to the human man.

"I'm going to round up a work crew to get those doors re-attached and clean up the siege engines outside. We'll need the visibility and the Argent Dawn can probably reclaim some of them." They both looked to Jaina for her approval and when she gave it, they set off for their respective tasks perhaps more quickly than necessary.  _I even frighten those who know my good deeds._

For a moment she stood amidst the comings and goings of adventurers and Kor'Kron and warriors of the Ashen Verdict and tried not to feel overwhelmed and dispirited. It didn't work. All around her was trust and comraderie. Even the hatred between Horde and Alliance that had re-ignited after the tragedy at the Wrathgate had diminished in the aftermath of Arthas' defeat as heroes of every race had participated in the infiltration, the invasion and the final battle. They mingled now, sharing grief and triumph.

No one mingled with Jaina. She was given a wide berth wherever she went now, conversations dwindling to whispers, eyes filling with wariness or dislike or pity. Walking deeper into the Citadel, she recognized one of the adventurers who had accompanied her into the depths of the Citadel, searching for the Halls of Reflection. Jaina remembered the rogue's silent conviction, her lightning reflexes, her shouting defiance as an undead Vrykul twice her height seized her by the throat only to be saved moments later by a desperate blast of holy radiance from a priest she had never met before. Jaina had saved that priest's life in turn, shattering the ice blocks that Arthas had thrown in their way as they fought to escape his inner sanctum when their plans went awry. She had told them she would be honoured to die with them as Arthas stalked up the tunnel towards them, intent on cruel revenge. They had said the same. Then the Skybreaker had come, just in the nick of time, blasting pieces off the Citadel itself to seal Arthas inside long enough for Jaina and her adventurers to escape...

Now, the woman did a double-take, blanched and quickly looked away. Jaina wasn't sure what she would have done with any other reaction.  _What do you say? Congratulations? I'm sorry? Good luck?_  Nothing was appropriate and the furtive looks were beginning to wear on Jaina. She needed to be alone and gather her own thoughts before she had to face anyone else's.

She wavered, part of her convinced she should stay in the Citadel where someone could keep an eye on her, while another part begged to get away from the black walls and the memories and the wary glances. One more look at the rogue's back convinced her. Jaina took herself off for a walk, pulling the heavy blue-black cloak around her thin shoulders.

Icecrown glacier flowed marginally east-west from the highest of the Storm Peaks where perpetual winter kept the ice sheet growing. The previous Lich King had bade his minions build an enormous dam at the border with Crystalsong Forest to the south, perhaps in an attempt to direct or contain the glacier, or to hold back the meltwaters for some nefarious future purpose. A trickle, developed by the friction of ice wearing against earth, leaked between the mortared blocks of the dam and formed a small river through the eerie crystal forest. Further to the west the ice sheet thinned naturally, lessened by the warmth of Sholazar Basin, and fed a network of small rivers.

Here, near the Citadel, the ice was nearly flat and immensely thick, butting against the spur of foothills that tracked north from the Dragonblight. The Citadel itself was backed against those same hills and Jaina could only think of them as 'hills' in comparison to the towering peaks further north and east.

The Lich King could not have chosen a more appropriate symbol of his power. The ice was vast and immovable, implacable in its progress. Somewhere many tens of meters beneath her, the weight of it scarred the very skin of Azeroth, changing it as surely as the Lich King's coming had changed the life of all who dwelt on the world.

_Especially my life,_ she thought and lowered her gaze to her feet, poking the bloodied, muddied, hard-packed snow with the toe of her boot. Hellscream was sure she would fail; Fordring needed to believe she would triumph. Mograine wanted nothing to do with her. Sylvanas? Jaina couldn't read the Banshee Queen and didn't bother to pretend she could. What would the rest of them say? She could picture Varian Wrynn foaming at the mouth, furious at a man who was already dead for somehow inflicting this fate on her. And Thrall, occasionally her ally, sometimes even her friend? He would pity her, but he couldn't help her.

Jaina wiped her sleeve across her eyes roughly. They were all empty; she could see their living flesh slowly decaying before her as she had seen Tirion Fordring's creeping demise in his waning strength, an inexorable, prolonged death from the moment of creation. Suddenly she understood why the Lich King's living followers had desired undeath- they were corpses already, why not be immortal? Her understanding was more awful than the thought itself and Jaina recoiled, pushing away any iota of comprehension, any vestige of acknowledgment.

A winter breeze forced her to close her eyes. It was so  _cold_! Jaina put her back to the wind and hunched her shoulders. She didn't belong here! She belonged in Theramore, among her loyal, living subjects, with the scent of salt on the warm, humid air, with gulls calling and cicadas humming.

Suddenly more than anything she missed the oppressive heat, the smell of seaweed and fish baking in the sun, the murky swamp full of green shadows and sinkholes and ogres and mystery. She had been away from Theramore for more than a year and the longing for home came over her like physical pain. It was so different here! She hadn't seen a single bird that wasn't a shape-shifted druid in nine months. The only insects were the Scourged Nerubians in the Lich King's army. There were no flies bothering the horses, no ticks fighters swore at as they pulled them off, no snakes to cause surprise, no rabbits to hunt. She hadn't seen so much as a mouse in the Citadel. What could survive on the frozen roof of the world  _besides_  the undead?

Tears fell down her cheeks and froze there in burning tracks.

She was never going home.

* * *

Kel'Thuzad didn't dare teleport himself straight to the Citadel. The place would be crawling with adventurers and heroes and members of the Ashen Verdict all drunk with victory and happy to cleanse the glacier of anything remotely Scourge-related. It would be embarrassing to need resurrecting twice in one day. Instead, the lich approached Icecrown more traditionally, crossing the snow-covered bones of the Storm Peaks under his own power, moving west toward the foothills, keeping off the high places where he could be spotted from the air or by keen eyes below. The quickest path to the Citadel was across the dam at the south edge of the glacier, but to reach it, Kel'Thuzad would have to pass near Crusader's Pinnacle. The little plateau had been the site of a bitter battle, one of the first the Scourge had lost.

With luck, the heroes from the Pinnacle would be scouring Icecrown, not loitering at their hard-won outpost. The lich came down the side of a ridge, skeletal talons tracing lightly across the frozen stone, kilt fluttering over nothingness. Kel'Thuzad did not need toe-holds to navigate the mountainside. As long as he had a solid surface nearby he could levitate safely. He paused within sight of the Pinnacle, unpredictable updrafts from the valley tugging at his cowl and mantle. There were more soldiers visible than he had hoped. Most of them were motionless, eating or resting or simply hanging about in ones and twos talking. A pair in armour slowly walked the perimeter, but their attention was on each other, not on the tall shadow that flickered between the cover of split trees and broken rocks.

Kel'Thuzad paused on the peak of the pinnacle, bent against the wind and the possibility of discovery, fingers driven into the frozen earth. He could teleport from here to the dam. It was attached to Icecrown Citadel and had probably fallen quickly, then been abandoned for more important theatres. The Scourge would not bother to re-take it with the enemy so close to their capital. It was likely deserted. Kel'Thuzad debated with himself momentarily, avoiding the real reason he wanted to blink from here to the Citadel: Dalaran.

The lich ground his teeth. What audacity his former peers had, transporting their floating, magical city within spitting distance of the Lich King's Citadel! Even if the mages there couldn't  _see_  him, likely one or more was going to notice him through arcane means and there was no group of people on Azeroth who hated him more, once for shaming their brotherhood and again for betraying all of humanity. Kel'Thuzad disagreed with their assessments of his character, of course, but he knew where he wasn't welcome. So either he could try to sneak overland past the flying city and risk discovery, or he could teleport across the distance and risk running afoul of some straggling band of heroes. The lich stroked his chin and weighed his options, liking neither.

The decision was almost yanked out of his control. Kel'Thuzad felt something thunder against his mental shields and cringed against the mountainside, shoring up his telepathic defenses hurriedly. Then he stopped. It wasn't his new Lich King battering him with warnings and summons. It was the Scourge themselves. Icecrown Citadel was under attack- again. Kel'Thuzad twisted round to squint across the kilometers, listening intently. The Scourge could clamour and shout all they wanted to; the only individuals who would hear their pleas were their commanders and the Lich King himself, and Kel'Thuzad somehow doubted their new master was going to be quick to help. Hundreds of wordless undead voices shrieked for assistance, or bleated in terror. Some of them were angry, most of them were hungry, all of them were disorganized and seeking direction from the power that had brought them into existence. There was no acknowledgment.

And then Kel'Thuzad had an idea.

He needed to act as swiftly as possible, before the fledgling Lich King could grow into his power. Kel'Thuzad drew a portal, sending a baleful glance in Dalaran's direction, and disappeared through the swirling energy. A moment later, he re-appeared hundreds of leagues away among the dilapidated gray-browns of the Eastern Plaguelands, in the hills just north of Stratholme. A scant few years ago, he could have looked up and seen Naxxramas hanging above the city. He drowned the memory before it could distract him.

The lich remembered Stratholme crawling with ghouls and zombies and lumbering abominations, plagued mist creeping in thin skeins of undeath. Now it was all dust and ruins. Perhaps at some future point, the living would set out to reclaim the city. At the moment, it seemed that no one wanted the place and Kel'Thuzad meandered down empty lanes, between charred and broken houses and businesses. He had been dead- really, truly dead, not the awkward, temporary sleepwalk of lich-death- when Stratholme had been put to the torch.

Long after the fires had burned themselves out, repeated rain had softened what remained, running under roofs and foundations, pulping trusses and timber framing. No wonder no one had taken back Stratholme after the Scourge had been driven from it: there was nothing to return to. It seemed the only denizens now were the natural kind, plants and fungi, mice and insects and little birds. Weeds grew up between the heat-cracked cobblestones.

Kel'Thuzad found his way to the central square, almost unrecognizable since the entire front of the town hall had collapsed into it, bringing down a neighbouring structure and almost filling the open space with an avalanche of bricks. There was a sapling struggling through a section of upright wall, two thin branches with only a handful of bright green leaves. Humans, it seemed, succumbed much more swiftly and thoroughly to the plague than did other kinds of life.

He considered the young tree. Years ago, Arthas had swept into this place with a righteous fury, slaughtered the people and raged after the demon Mal'ganis into Northrend. Then Kel'Thuzad had parked his necropolis above the city and let Baron Rivendare oversee its complete degeneration. And only two years ago, he had been ordered to move Naxxramas north, taking Rivendare with him to replace the loss of Alexandros Mograine and… sometime between then and now, between victory and crushing defeat, this tree was born.

Kel'Thuzad reached out and caught the slender trunk between two fingers. It was too green to break easily so he twisted it in two. Curious, he peered at the torn fibres, rubbed the broken end against his thumb, then put it between his teeth- not the exaggerated canines but the sharp carnassial pair further back. He bit down, shearing the wood neatly, leaving a flat surface.

"Two years," he murmured, looking at the tiny, distinct rings in the wood. "As if it were just waiting for us to look away." He tossed the twig aside and moved on.

What he sought lay deeper in the city.

* * *

Jaina picked herself up off the glacier, eyes squeezed shut, jaw clenched, trying to physically repel the whimpering, yammering din that had exploded in her mind moments ago.

"Stop," she gasped as the world tilted and swung beneath her, "Stop, stop!  _STOP!_ "

To her surprise, the cacophony of chattering Scourge dissipated. She swallowed the rising sickness in her throat and sat down again, thankful for the intrusive cold beneath her. It gave her something else to concentrate on. She took off one glove and plunged her fist into the snow. A second later, she opened her eyes, panting but able to see without her vision swimming.

"Something's wrong," she murmured. The Scourge weren't intentionally speaking to her now the way the mysterious, telepathic one had before, they were simply so upset about something that they were broadcasting terror and fury. She caught glimpses whether she wanted to or not. "Something at the Citadel?" Jaina looked up towards the black edifice she had just left. She listened.

And sure enough, she heard raised voices and running feet.

"Oh what now?" Hoofbeats on packed ice reached her and Jaina stood up slowly, working her stiff fingers back into her glove. The cold stung but it gave her clarity.

The horse and rider slid to a halt paces from her. It was one of the Death Knights that Darion Mograine had left in her command, Xochi.

"Lady King!" called the Troll, "Com' to da Citadel. We be undah attack!"

"How did the Scourge manage to organize themselves without a leader?" she asked, walking briskly toward him, still dizzy but unwilling to let it affect her in front of him. "What direction? How many are there?"

"From inside da Citadel," said the Troll and held out his hand to her. Jaina paused for only a moment before accepting it and swinging up behind him on the skeletal horse. It was not comfortable. "Dey came up outta da floor, where dat beeg nasty lady lich used ta be."

"Out of the floor?" said Jaina, trying not to bite her tongue as the undead horse accelerated to an uncoordinated gallop.

"Dey be Nerubian, Lady. One beeg, beeg one in da blue and gold armour be leadin' 'em an' he be da angriest damn bug I evah saw." Fortunately for Jaina's composure, and buttocks, she hadn't walked very far from the Citadel and their jolting, uneven ride ended quickly at the front doors. Adventurers ran past them in ones and twos, drawing weapons and readying spells. Jaina noticed that Starkweather had managed to move said doors out of the way and prop them against the outer wall of the Citadel while she was gone. She rushed after Xochi toward the sound of battle. It did not take long for it to reach them.

" _Throw yourselves on my claws, you worthless food! Die beneath my feet as I crush the life out of you!_ "

The Death Knight at her side, Jaina joined the current of fighters streaming towards the back of the Citadel. She picked her way through the smashed skeletal remains of the Lich King's first sentry, Lord Marrowgar, and sprinted up the ramp to the Oratory of the Damned, hot on the Troll's heels, wincing at the volume and sheer rage of the voice coming from within. They both skidded to a halt and gaped.

The floor of the Oratory had a yawning hole in the centre, large enough to lose an ice mammoth in. The edges of the tunnel continued to crumble inwards, claiming the footing of several unlucky fighters as she stared. Jaina could see torchlight glinting off the dark carapaces of a seemingly endless flow of Nerubian warriors coming up from beneath the Citadel, but it was those that already occupied the ruined Oratory who drew her full attention.

"I will kill you all!" roared the Crypt Lord in the center, who was clearly in charge and out of his mind. "I do not fear you, fragile morsels! Yes, come to me!  _I'll take you all on!_ " This last was howled with such vigour and ferocity that Jaina actually took a step back. It almost looked he could too, but for the fact that the Ashen Verdict was now arriving in force and a group of them were shrewdly towing one of the ballistas from the entryway.

"See, Lady King?" said Xochi almost conversationally, "Dat be one pissed off bug."

"Yes," was all Jaina could think to say. She saw the Crypt Lord toss a Tauren warrior clear across the chamber, then whirl with preternatural swiftness and plunge one scythe-like foreclaw into a mage who had probably thought he was out of range. Twelve Nerubian casters were arrayed in crescent rows behind their seething leader, half of them throwing firebolts and lightning, the other half bathing the Crypt Lord in healing radiance. These were the Nerubian Seers, a form that Jaina only knew through pictures: magic-users, tall and thin, four-armed and four-legged, draped in swathes of silk. The Nerubian soldiers in the tunnel began to scramble out now, skittering across the broken floor to enter the fray wherever their brawling leader wasn't currently engaged.

"Where is your Lich King now, murderers?" bellowed the Crypt Lord triumphantly as he slapped two hapless paladins into the wall, then stomped on them for good measure.

"Oh  _shit_ ," said Jaina, eyes widening, then she flushed and checked to see if Xochi had heard her, but he was focused on the battle. She had known, peripherally and without details, that the previous Lich King had waged a war on the Nerubian civilization upon reaching Northrend, killing them the old fashioned way when he discovered the Scourge plague couldn't and ordering his necromancers to raise their corpses in service to his new regime. The undead Nerubians had served him, but they did so unwillingly. Now, with Jaina unable to command the Scourge as Arthas had done, they were rebelling. Except...

She put out her hand to stop Xochi as he drew his runeblade. "Wait," she said, staring at the furious Crypt Lord. "Let me handle this." Jaina strode forward before he could answer, pushing past fighters until she reached the front line. She rolled up her sleeves and blasted the Nerubian forces with cold, freezing them in place without stopping.

" _Hahahahahaaaa!_ " snarled the Crypt Lord with murderous glee as he caught sight of Jaina advancing effortlessly through the ranks of his subordinates. "Come to your death, human!" Jaina saw him reach for a Draenei hunter, her leg pinned under rubble, and blasted the joint in his armoured forearm with frost. It impeded his motion long enough for the woman's pet to yank her from beneath the rock. Jaina showered the Crypt Lord with arcane missiles until she had his full attention.

"I'm the one you want," she said, her voice low. "I am Jaina Proudmoore, to whom has passed the will of the Scourge. What is your business in Icecrown?" The Crypt Lord held up one sickle claw and the rest of the Nerubians ceased fighting. Someone behind Jaina fired an arrow at the Nerubian; it struck his chest with a useless  _click_  and dropped harmlessly to the broken floor. No one else moved.

"You?" rumbled the massive insect, peering down at her from his enormous height, "You are the Lich King?"

Jaina swallowed and stepped closer. "I wield that power now. And you-" she paused as he approached, crossing his killing claws in front of him. "I release you from..." The Nerubian's shoulders shook with laughter and he slammed the points of both claws into the ground before Jaina could flinch.

"Release me, demon?" The Crypt Lord leaned forward, angling the serrated blue and gold horn on his brow at Jaina. Beneath his chitinous hood, she glimpsed the Nerubian's burning green eyes. "You never had me! I am Anu'Shukhet and I am free!" There were zealous cheers from the rest of the Nerubian force.

Jaina gulped.  _I knew there was something wrong here._  "Wait-  _wait-_ you're- you're alive? You're not Scourge?"  _Where are the Scourge who I heard, then_?

The Crypt Lord- no,  _Spiderlord-_  ceased laughing and growled at her. "I will never be your pawn."

"Of course not," said Jaina hurriedly, "I have this power but I did not take it on willingly. I mean you no harm, nor your kingdom, nor your species. If anything, I mean the  _Scourge_  harm!"

Anu'Shukhet, if that was his name, pulled back and stared at her. Indeed, Jaina realized that everyone in the room was staring at her and she swallowed.

"Imuruk!" bellowed the Spiderlord, and for a moment Jaina was about to call for a translator, if such a thing existed, and then another Nerubian skittered forward, a gaunt, crippled Seer missing an eye. "Imuruk, this human claims to be the Lich King. Is he telling the truth?"

Jaina held up one finger to correct the Spiderlord's pronoun usage, but the Seer interrupted her.

"Yes, this one is now in control of the Scourge. Uh, this one is female, Shukhet." The Seer tapped all of his fingertips together nervously, looking from his lord to Jaina. Anu'Shukhet seemed to be pondering her. The whole room was holding its breath, with the exception of the Seer. "I'm afraid she's quite terrible with the genders of other species. Don't be offended."

Jaina's eyes widened and she looked up at the towering Spiderlord.  _She?_

"I am not offended," said Jaina gently, "I understand your confusion, Anu'Shukhet. And I must beseech you on behalf of the living,  _free_  people here, who all helped to bring down the former Lich King and end his terrible power, to cease your attack."

"Will you submit to our justice in exchange for a cessation of hostilities?" rumbled the Spiderlord. She was visibly more calm now, though no less huge and menacing for it.

"Killing me will only cause the power to jump to another host," said Jaina, with more conviction than she felt. Truly, she had no idea what the Lich King's magic would do if unleashed by her death. It  _might_  choose a new host, as it had done with her. Anu'Shukhet ground her mandibles together and shifted, then turned away. She walked a short distance, then smashed one sickle claw against the floor in what looked like frustration.

"So we must accept that we will never have true vengeance for the destruction of our very  _species_?" snarled the Spiderlord. Something creaked behind Jaina and she winced. The ballista had arrived.

"Don't kill her!" yelled Jaina, holding up both hands and turning toward the startled Ashen Verdict knights who were stealthily cranking the harpoon in place. "We came to this place for justice and we got it! We came to this place to kill the Lich King and end his reign, and we did. These warriors want nothing less. We aren't enemies," she pleaded as fighters exchanged doubtful glances. The Seer, Imuruk, backed up slowly, spying the ballista. It was aimed at where Anu'Shukhet stood currently, although Jaina had seen her in action and did not assume her size would make her an easy target.

"We aren't allies," said the Spiderlord and turned back. She pointed a claw at the knights with the ballista. "Fire that and I promise you, I will eat your families while I wear your remains as a necklace. Jaina Proudmoore, I did not expect you to be a living creature. Imuruk saw your ascension in a vision, but I did not believe him. I believed the Lich King had been weakened and I chose the time to attack."

"You attacked the wrong people!" shouted a priest kneeling with a dying, disemboweled warrior at the edge of the tunnel.

"It's true," added another voice, "we only retaliated."

"We were defending ourselves!"

"As your pathetic species always does! You defend your _selves_  and yourselves alone!" Anu'Shukhet yelled back, making the floor shake.

"You Nerubians aren't a model of diplomacy," countered the priest on the floor.

"More like the antithesis!"

"You never asked for help!"

"Little late to da party, don't'chu tink?" Jaina turned to find Xochi behind her, arms folded over his black armoured chest, eyes fixed on the Spiderlord. Across from them, Imuruk reared up on his back pair of legs, stretching to whisper something to his commander. Anu'Shukhet leaned over to listen. She drew back and stomped one heavy foot in annoyance. The Seer limped back toward Jaina.

"We acknowledge our wrong-doing and apologize," he said, his voice high and sibilant.

"That doesn't make up for the lives you've taken!" shouted one of the knights still aiming the ballista. Anu'Shukhet dug a claw into the floor but said nothing.

"Your leader here is the Lich King, Jaina, yes?" replied Imuruk, nervously. There was no immediate reply, then Xochi nodded.

"Dis Citadel be da seat o' da Lich King, so yeah, Lady King is in charge." No one contested his assessment and Jaina found herself once again the focus of every pair of eyes.

"What will you do then, Lich King?" said Anu'Shukhet sullenly, her voice low and flat. Jaina paused.  _What should I do? She murdered people, but she thought she had a reason and I see some of her soldiers dead too._  To her surprise, Jaina found herself calmer and more comfortable than she had been since waking up beneath the Frozen Throne. This wasn't a totally alien situation; she had worked to solve diplomatic disputes before, ones that involved spilt blood, and she saw an opportunity that had never been presented so clearly before.

"Anu'Shukhet," she said loudly, "you have invaded my Citadel and taken lives. Although you did this for a valorous purpose, you did not identify your goal and put us into this unfortunate, bloody situation. You have suffered unimaginably at the hands of the previous Lich King, and I see you have fresh losses from your ranks now.

"I believe your intentions were honest but your execution was flawed. For that, I will claim you as my prisoner. Your soldiers are free to go, or to stay if that is their wish." There were murmurs throughout the crowd on both sides. Anu'Shukhet lowered her head and re-crossed her claws before her. "I understand that you distrust me and you have every reason to. Therefore, while you are here, if I do anything that endangers your species, or any other living race on Azeroth, you have my permission to... take your vengeance."

The murmurs grew. Anu'Shukhet turned around to face Jaina. "Yes," she said, "I find this fair." She glanced at the priest and the knights behind the ballista. "I apologize for my rash behaviour." The priest grunted and turned his back on her, but the knights shrugged and started pulling the gigantic crossbow back out of the Oratory.

As she returned her focus to Anu'Shukhet, Jaina saw a flicker of movement behind the line of Nerubian casters.  _A geist! Oh sweet Light, no! The Scourge-!_

Panic flooded her. If they attacked now, Anu'Shukhet would be on Jaina without a thought and her forces would follow her. If the gathered fighters thought Jaina had summoned the Scourge, it would end in a three way battle that she would not emerge from alive.

**Go!**  she commanded, staring at the geist until it gave her a headache.  **Leave the Citadel! There is no threat here! GET OUT!**  Terror for herself and for the heroes and adventurers gathered fueled the message. The geist actually jumped. Jaina clenched her jaw, muscle flickering with strain.  **Leave! Go! Run far from here! GO! All of you must leave- if you value your l-lives, if you value my life- GO!**

"Where do you want us to put all of them?" Jaina turned, white sparks popping in her vision, to find Starkweather, the human Death Knight, standing behind her with a disapproving frown.

"Speak to Imuruk. He seems to be rational and have some status with them," replied Jaina faintly.

"Very well."

"You don't sound convinced."

"What if she kills you and the power passes to her?" he said.

Jaina blinked at him, trying to clear the alternating dark and light spots from her field of view. "Starkweather," she said, "the Lich King annihilated her people, destroyed their very civilization, maybe extinguished their race depending on how they reproduce. I imagine the prospect of becoming the Lich King is the very worst destiny she can think of. I'm the one person here who I think is completely safe from any of them."

The Death Knight raised his eyebrows. "I... had not thought of that."

"We've never managed to make diplomatic contact with the Nerubians beyond single individuals. I want to look at this as an opportunity born of unfortunate circumstances. I want their allegiance."

Starkweather was smiling slightly behind his moustache. "Cunning, Lady King."

"Please," said Jaina, "don't call me that."

"I'm afraid it's stuck," he said and bowed slightly before heading off to find appropriate lodgings for their 'guests'.

Jaina sagged weakly against one of the few pillars still standing. She waited until her heart was beating normally again, then straightened up, squared her shoulders and walked back to the entrance of the Citadel before she realized she didn't know what to do next. She would have liked privacy, to retire to a room where she could read or think or drink a cup of tea in peace, but the closest place that matched that description was the tent at Light's Hammer where Tirion Fordring had let her rest after the first night. She didn't want to go back there.

She wandered for the better part of three hours, tired but unwilling to rest, encountering the Orcish Death Knight, Strangleheart, in the sub-basement. The woman gave her a summary of her findings so far and Jaina thanked her before resuming her roaming. Nightfall found her on a slim balcony that faced west. Jaina watched the sun set. In Theramore, the sun wouldn't go down for another four hours, but in the North, in the winter, the days were painfully short.

The sound of lowered voices came to her and she peered cautiously over the railing.

On a wider balcony below, the three Ebon Hold Death Knights were convened in a tight circle.

"...sent da message."

"Certainly has a peculiar way of handling things," said Strangleheart wryly.

"And when she loses that pleasant peculiarity, we'll have to move fast to beat that damn bug," replied Starkweather.

"We could jus' let da bug finish her for us."

"No. We were chosen for this mission. We will complete it."

Stricken, Jaina backed away from the railing, eyes hot and vision swimming, swallowing disappointment and betrayal as she hurried back inside the Citadel.

Darion Mograine hadn't thoughtfully given her a trusted staff: he'd embedded an execution squad should Jaina's will fail.

* * *

Kel'Thuzad emerged from the portal to discover some lackwit had built a campfire right where he liked to exit. Eyeing the collection of surprised Cult of the Damned members assembled and not instantly identifying the guilty party, the lich frostbolted his burning kilt and snarled at all of them.

"I have a mission to Icecrown that requires ultimate stealth," he announced and paced erratically, part of his mind still seeking the person responsible for his botched entrance. "Our Master lives, but he needs guidance and we need information. Both of these goals can be accomplished simultaneously using this." Kel'Thuzad raised his left hand. He held a thick book bound in blue leather, closed with a bronze clasp across the pages. A single red tassel hung from between the leaves, marking a passage that the lich now turned to. He crooked one finger at the closest of the Thuzadin and the man came forwarded instantly. Kel'Thuzad set the tome in his hands and showed him the section. The man's eyes widened briefly and then he nodded.

"Go to a battlefield- any battlefield- and bring me the remains of one of our necromancers, or mages." Three of the Thuzadin complied, bolting off in three separate directions. Kel'Thuzad turned back to the man he had given the book to.

"Do you understand what you have been asked to do?" said the lich.

"Yes," whispered the necromancer.

It took the Thuzadin less than an hour to return with the body of a skeletal mage, wrapped in his tattered burgundy cloak. Kel'Thuzad nodded with satisfaction.

"This will serve us well." The rest of the Cult surrounded him in a loose circle. "Place it here. Good." He paused and looked down at his faithful. "Now, you must destroy me. I will not resist."

They hesitated just long enough to show respect, but not so long he could mistake it for disobedience


	3. A Day for Ghosts

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's the beginning of a beautiful friendship. Sort of.

Every morning for a week Jaina woke in varying states of physical discomfort and depression. The first day, she was so cold she had curled up in a shivering ball during the night and her muscles ached for the next twelve hours. With the addition of two more blankets, she was too hot and the heat brought nightmares she could just barely remember. She knew they involved Arthas. She woke up shaking, his bright blue eyes burned into her memory.

Her sleeping situation was remedied when Strangleheart found a suitable room for Jaina to claim as her bedchamber. It had held crates of glass vials filled with a variety of coloured substances. Jaina was careful not to touch any of them and let the Death Knights remove the boxes, but apparently the contents needed to be kept from freezing as the room had a large fireplace at one end, with a broad flagstone hearth and a ready supply of cordwood stacked in the corner. It also had windows with double panes that kept winter sealed outside, though it made her view blurry and indistinct. Jaina didn't mind; there wasn't really anything to look at anyway. The sky and the ground were the same colour.

However, once she had a private space- and the promise of a real bed to come thanks to the omnipresence of enterprising goblins- she felt worse. She really was staying here. This wasn't just Icecrown Citadel anymore. Now it was  _her_  Citadel.

On the fourth day of her first week as Lich King, she forced herself to examine her new reality. On the surface, she was alert and collected, giving directions, listening to reports and deciding how to proceed with the deconstruction and reconstruction on the glacier. She took the Helm of Domination up to the Frozen Throne every morning for two hours and sat on a thick white fur spread on the ice, staring at the armour sightlessly while her mind ran in circles. No one accompanied her. It was her only time alone during the hectic, directionless days. Every morning she told Tirion Fordring that she donned the Helm and worked hard at controlling the scattered Scourge, and the old paladin would smile and speak words of encouragement.

In truth, Jaina hadn't put on the grim mask since the first day.

Sometimes she wore it in her dreams, with her long flaxen hair spilling from beneath its serrated edges. She would watch helplessly as her locks turned pale and brittle and her hands stretched out to spill the blood of her allies.

Today, Jaina was determined not to lie to the paladin. Today she was going to put on the Helm and  _try_. She had told herself the same thing for the past seven days, but each time when she moved through the slithering blue light of the transporter and gazed up at the looming Throne, she would sit down and fix her mind's eye deep in her memories. She took it as encouragement today when she did not immediately sit down.

She remained standing, her unbound hair moving on a frigid draft. She stared at the pointed slits in the Helm.

"Its not just your destiny," said Arthas, and Jaina whirled to see her once-beloved leaning on his hammer, dressed in cheerful blue and gold Lordaeron heraldry. She realized she was still asleep and relaxed. "It's your duty," he continued, and flipped the heavy weapon up onto his broad, armoured shoulder.

"But I didn't choose-"

Arthas tossed his head, golden hair shifting, and he sighed. "It doesn't matter. You've been dealt misfortune. Its your job to make it right, whether you want to or not."

"How is it  _my_  job? I told you not to murder everyone in Stratholme! I told you not to go north! You're the one who's dealt me misfortune, not some great cosmic force." Jaina propped her fists on her hips and glared at the Prince.

"Well, I'm dead and gone. I can't do anything."

Jaina frowned at the apparition.  _This is how I know I'm dreaming: only my sub-conscious could be equally cryptic and logical._  "Of course you are. You ran up here not thinking, or thinking the wrong things- looking for a way to save your kingdom and you ended up damning it with your own hand!"

"Yes," said Arthas, and he lowered his chin in contrition. "And you crossed an ocean to save your people, whether it was politically beneficial or not. You did what was best. You've lived with the consequences of that decision."

"It was  _my_  decision," she hissed.

"Do you think that I intentionally passed my powers to you?" he asked. Jaina stood still and considered his question. It wasn't really his question, of course. She had avoided asking herself the same several times. She knew some people had already decided that their past involvement was the reason she had been awarded his curse.

"Yes," she answered finally, her voice a trembling whisper, "Out of s-spite. Out of cruelty. Because you think I b-betrayed you, but the traitor here is you! You did this to me so that I would suffer!" The shadows under his cheekbones, beneath his chin, and above his eyes grew deeper. His golden hair stilled and turned pale and coarse as twine. All around them the air chilled and stank, of rot and lightning, and the cold dark of the Lich King's armour swallowed him up. Jaina backed away, holding the Helm in quaking hands.

"You made mistakes, Arthas! Rash decisions! You forgot that a Prince should be a servant to his people-"

He laughed a mirthless, hollow laugh. "A Prince should serve only his King," he said and his voice echoed through her skull, prying at the sutures. "All shall serve the King." He thrust his hand forward, taloned gauntlets clutching at the air, for Jaina was too far out of his reach, but she felt the clasp of hard metal around her shoulders nevertheless, bending her ribs, grinding against her hips. She cried out and the Helm fell from her hands. It rang dully on the stone between them. Arthas knelt with casual ease in the heavy plate armour, keeping his hold on her with nothing but his gaze as he picked up the savage mask and slowly placed it on his head.

Arthas was gone, lost inside the cage of metal and frost, and only the Lich King remained.

"I will never serve you," she breathed between her teeth. They were the last words of Bolvar Fordragon, before the Lich King's cruelty had stripped him of will and muscle and life itself, and Jaina growled in defiance as the ill-fated paladin had done. "I serve..." she panted as his ethereal grip began to splinter her body, "I serve Theramore... and humanity... and Dalaran... and Azeroth!" His face was inches from her now. In the polished, uneven surface of the Helm she saw herself reflected and she watched, horrified, as a thin stream of blood dribbled from each ear. "I do not... serve... you!" Just before the pressure on her body dislocated her jaw, the dream shifted, collapsed on itself, and warmth and light rushed inwards.

She was sitting on a hillside, on a blue cloak, smiling for no discernible reason but for the beauty and life all around her. Swallows swooped and twittered after buzzing insects. The grass was thick and green, speckled with weeds that were no less beautiful for their pugnacity, and the sky was a blue so vibrant and real it made her ache with longing.  _You don't know what blue is until you've lived under months of opaque, wintry gray sky._

"Jaina?" She turned and there was Arthas, young and golden and breathless and uncorrupted. His cheeks were pink as though he had been running far or thinking heady thoughts.

"Hi," she whispered stupidly, because his youth made her flustered and nervous. He cupped her cheek in one hand, ungloved, soft, heated with the day and their closeness.

"Hi," he said shyly and he kissed her. It was supposed to be a peck, a chaste way to sally forth and wait for her response, but Jaina had missed him  _so much_  and she tangled her arms around his neck with urgent violence, kissing him back hungrily, so hard he fell over and she was astride him. She pulled back, pushing her hair aside so she could see him, finding in her haste a strand was caught between her lips. His chest heaved with surprise and delight.

"This is much better," she breathed and pressed her mouth to his, eagerly seeking the flavour of giddy memories. Instead he tasted like metal and she drew back, frowning.

"I thought you might be more willing if you were warmer," he leered and his eyes were milk-white and glowing, his skin turned rigid and clammy.

Jaina shrieked and the dream fell apart. Now she was awake, staring into the darkness of pre-dawn, the fur of her blanket sweeping her bare shoulder, her cheek buried in the warm damp linen of her pillow.

The sun struggled through the translucent window and Jaina knew she had to get up and visit the Frozen Throne again.

* * *

The invocation had taken hours longer than Kel'Thuzad expected. He lingered between worlds, disembodied. The Cult of the Damned were organized and capable, but still it took them until sundown to resurrect the lich. Considering they had never attempted this spell before, he was content to wait as the Thuzadin lead the other Cult necromancers through the intricacies of the incantation. Slowly, meticulously, they completed the spell and Kel'Thuzad found himself once again standing at the center of a circle, slightly off-balance and weak.

He touched his chest gingerly, familiarizing himself with this new body.  _Hmph. No claws._

"My lord?" said the leading Thuzadin, holding the closed book against his chest. "Are you satisfied with our work?" Kel'Thuzad found himself eye-to-eye with the man for the first time ever. He reached out and settled one hand on the necromancer's shoulder, half in assurance and half to steady himself.

"Splendid," he replied. "Excellent work."

"Oh, sir, your voice!" Kel'Thuzad turned, shuffling his feet- he could hover but to complete the illusion he was going to have to re-learn how to walk- and faced one of the Cult.

"What is your concern with my voice?" he queried.

"It's different," she said hesitantly. "I apologize for my ignorance. I didn't know how the host body would affect you." Truly, neither did Kel'Thuzad. It was an entirely new variation of necromancy for all of them, something forbidden by the Violet Citadel and til this point nearly useless to the Scourge. His shorter stature and regained legs were predictable, but the effect of the host on the soul inside had changed his tone from a rough-pitched, breathy hiss to a throaty tenor reminiscent of his living voice.

"Take notes," he advised, listening to himself with detached curiosity. The Cultist nodded. "What intelligence have you gathered on the number and location of remaining Scourge?" he asked. He was accustomed to looking down at his minions and they were used to looking up. There were going to be some awkward moments of transition, which Kel'Thuzad was choosing to ignore.

"We have been pushed out of Icecrown almost entirely," said the woman promptly. Another Cult member brought a rawhide map and two of them held it open while the woman pointed out pockets of resistance and safe locations. "We are here-" she circled a site just east of the Argent Tournament grounds with her gloved fingertip, "-too high in the mountains for them to bother scouting. Most of our forces have been chased outwards from Icecrown Citadel. The most common, successful paths of escape are here, here and here so far. There is still a large force here," she continued, indicating a place southeast of them, "and we've had one scout report there are strongholds in the Storm Peaks among the Vrykul villages."

Kel'Thuzad was nodding, memorizing the map. "Good, very good." He straightened and turned to face the ready gazes of the Cult. "The first time I died in service to our Master, he bid my spirit follow Prince Arthas and advise him as he proved himself a worthy vessel. I did this and I was reborn as no lich before or since has been- in the power of the High Elven Sunwell. But before I was given this immortality, I was tasked with preparing the Prince for his destiny." He clasped his hands behind his back and walked slowly between the standing Cultists, carefully placing each heavily booted foot. "The Lich King will never die. We will never lose our god for he is immortal in perfect undeath."

The transformed lich read relief and renewed faith on the faces of the gathered believers. He smiled, but no one could tell.

"I have spoken briefly to this new vessel. It is confused and inexperienced and  _living_." There were murmurs of surprise and some indignance. "Yes, just as Arthas once lived. And just as Arthas required guidance, so does this one, which is why I am going to Icecrown Citadel. If this person can be properly advised and taught, then I will do that, as I was willed to before. If this person cannot be educated, then I will kill them and let the power choose a new Lich King for us."

The necromancer who had lead the reanimation stepped forward and bowed. "My lord, would it not be safer to send one of us if this vessel is living and surrounded by the living? I'm sure you thought it through but I remain concerned for your safety." He looked around at the other Cultists. "You found us and taught us to embrace death and we are eternally grateful. We've lost so many leaders in the past weeks-"

Kel'Thuzad stopped circling through the little group and gave the man his full attention. "Your concern is misplaced, Stavros. If I must give my life in service to our Master, I will do it willingly. And who better to teach this young Master the vagaries of our craft? If I send you, his training may be incomplete for there are things about that power none discovered save Arthas and myself."

Stavros the necromancer nodded and lowered his eyes. "We remain yours to command," he said reverently. Kel'Thuzad stilled amidst his followers.

"Until our new Master has learned to properly exert his will over the rest of the Scourge, do not allow the undead to venture into this camp. Trained or not, he can still see through the eyes of all but myself. I wish for you to remain in secrecy and keep a faithful vigil until our Master returns in his full glory." The lich moved to leave and paused as the Cultists drew back from him with reluctance.  _Of course._ He had asked them to kill him. They had done it, as swiftly and efficiently as possible, but the act had clearly rattled them and he recognized guilt and confusion in their timid, sideways glances. No matter that it was his own order; they had murdered their idol.

Kel'Thuzad held out his skeletal hands to the closest Cultists. The gesture didn't evoke the same sense of grandeur it did when he was fifteen feet tall and dressed in raw frostweave, but the necromancers dropped to their knees in the snow nevertheless, clasping Kel'Thuzad's fingers with fervent hands, touching their foreheads to his knuckles, kissing the pale bones. The rest joined them quickly and knelt, bowed to him, tension draining out of their rigid shoulders and worried eyes.

"You have done well," he said in his old-new voice, "You will be rewarded."

The lich took his leave and began to descend the snowy heights, moving with calculated urgency for Icecrown Citadel.

* * *

"Good morning, Lady King."

Jaina smiled thinly at Kagra Strangleheart as she exited her chambers. The Orcish Death Knight had a habit of appearing from seemly nowhere, a throwback skill to her days as a rogue before undeath and the Lich King's will had claimed her.

"Good morning," Jaina replied evenly.

"Heading upstairs, my Lady?" inquired the Orc, falling into step beside her. Jaina nodded.

"I feel I am making some progress," she added. It was a complete lie, but she was uncomfortable with all three of the Ebon Blade Knights, and most of all with their knowledge of her strengths and weaknesses.

"That is welcome news, my Lady!" said Strangleheart brightly. "I have some business with Highlord Fordring." She shook her head. "The old man's started taking prisoners from among the Scourge."

"Prisoners?" said Jaina, confused. "What's the point?"

"Some of the higher-ups aren't completely stupid or mute; they have intelligence we can use. Places they hide, weapons caches, plague traps, spies, that sort of thing."

"He has looked rather more sleep-deprived in the past few days..."

"Lady King, he found a spy in his own Argent Dawn this morning," said the Orc sadly. "The wench took her own life while he was begging her to tell him why." Jaina stopped before the translocator.

"A living spy for the Scourge?"

"Looked every inch a paladin to me, my Lady, except they found her making detailed maps of the Citadel and surrounding area, marking entrances and weak points and guard schedules. And she had this black and purple gown in her things. I swear I've seen something like it before. I just can't remember where..."

Jaina's brow furrowed. "She must have been part of the Cult of the Damned," she said finally, "but a paladin? Of the Argent Dawn?"

Strangleheart shrugged. "Look at Arthas," she said simply and Jaina flushed.

"You speak true," she said flatly. "What else did they find out about this spy?"

"Nothing much, my Lady. It seems she was working alone, collecting information for some future use. There was nothing to indicate she had contact with anyone."

"What a tragedy," Jaina sighed. "Thank you for informing me." Strangleheart bowed and stood back as Jaina activated the translocator.

Jaina had only taken her habitual cross-legged seat for ten minutes when the translocator hissed behind her and Anu'Shukhet stepped down from the platform with a heavy click. The Spiderlord paused, turning in a slow circle, taking in the barren place. She moved pointedly away from the edge.

"Anu'Shukhet," Jaina said, puzzled by the Nerubian's presence. "What brings you here?" She had been gazing bleakly up at the empty chains above the Frozen Throne. Varok Saurfang and Tirion Fordring, side-by-side, had extricated the ravaged corpse of Bolvar Fordragon from that indignity.  _I will never serve you!_  The Helm sat in her lap and Jaina touched it, wondering if the Spiderlord knew she should be wearing it.

"I wanted to see the place," Anu'Shukhet replied. She glanced up at the Throne and Jaina thought she saw the Nerubian wince, just a quick twitch of her sapphire exoskeleton.  _Her colours are so much brighter, more saturated than the undead ones._  Then the Spiderlord turned away. "What is it that you do up here, Lady King Jaina?"

"Try to make them obey me," she replied hollowly. "Contemplate my lot in life. Wonder if I'm going to go mad. Wonder if I'll have time to warn my friends before it happens." She paused.  _Wonder if I still have friends._  "Think about what the weather is like in Theramore."

"Sounds depressing," said Anu'Shukhet. Jaina nodded. "And it seems rather useless."

"What do you mean?"

Anu'Shukhet settled, folding all four legs beneath herself, lowering her claws until they rested in opposing curves on the frozen stone. "You're a politician, aren't you?"

"I suppose so, yes. I was. Am."

"Have you ever lead a battle, Lady King?"

"I was part of the assault on Mount Hyjal," Jaina replied, "and I went with Sylvanas through the side entrance of Icecrown to find the Halls of Reflection."

"You've been part of a battle, then. But you've never been in command."

"On a small scale," she ran her fingers around the opening of the Helm, feeling the chilled metal stick and grasp at her warm fingertips.

"The Scourge is not small. Your adventurers and heroes, they've killed many undead, but..." Anu'Shukhet shifted. "My people existed here for centuries beneath the ice. Our civilization was vast and marvelous. You humans had no idea. We never told you. Maybe we should have. When the Lich King came, we fought him and we thought we could win because the poison his servants spread didn't affect us. Surface-dwellers are weak; we are not. But we aren't invincible and when his servants killed us... they brought us back under his control and then we weren't just fighting him, we were fighting ourselves."

The Spiderlord stretched one fore-leg out before her and picked at something- Jaina dared not guess what- stuck to the joint. "I'm not a politician. I don't know what our King decided when the Scourge came to Anu'Hazad. I had two battalions under my command then. It's all I'm supposed to have. One hundred warriors. Everyone in our army died and was brought back as an enemy until I was the highest-ranking commander left alive. Now I have 817 warriors and scouts, forty-three Seers, six damned Viziers, too many civilians, and Imuruk. All of them looked to me, so I did what a good commander should do and led them by example."

Jaina looked away from Anu'Shukhet and felt ashamed. She saw what the Nerubian was getting at: if she was going to successfully lead the Scourge, she had to act like she meant it. Except that she  _didn't_  and she  _couldn't_.

"They're all that's left of your kingdom, aren't they?" said Jaina quietly. Anu'Shukhet rolled her armoured shoulders.

"Yes."

"Not a single one of them accepted my offer to leave when I took you prisoner." Jaina felt a lump forming in her throat. The Nerubians' loyalty to their Spiderlord was touching, and a little frightening, but Jaina couldn't say that it was misplaced. Anu'Shukhet had given them something tangible to put their faith in. She hadn't failed.

"The Scourge are mostly mindless drones and they'll follow you with blind obedience. Practically perfect subordinates." Anu'Shukhet finished cleaning herself and got up, flexing the layers of chitin armour over her delicate, wholly decorative wings. "That human Death Knight who fancies himself an architect is clearing up the Pit of Saron, trying to find anything salvageable down there. He could use some muscle to haul away the rubble. You know, muscle that doesn't care how boring the job is. Ghouls are good for that."

Jaina looked down at the Helm again. "I'll try," she said and forced a smile, but she knew that she was still lying.  _Who am I kidding?_  she thought.  _I can't do this. I can't control the Scourge. All I am is a place-holder, a body with a title, and a title that everyone despises at that!_ Maybe the young Hellscream had been right: maybe she should just ice herself over in the Frozen Throne, embalm her powers, suspend her will, and let the adventurers clean up the Scourge.  _I won't be able to hurt anyone-_

"Lady King!"

Jaina turned to find yet another unexpected guest sharing the Frozen Throne with her. It was Starkweather, looking tense and urgent. He glanced at Anu'Shukhet, then approached Jaina.

"We have a problem," he said gravely, "Well, actually two problems." Anu'Shukhet perked up visibly at the mention of problems, probably hoping they could be solved with blunt force. "Come quickly."

Jaina followed him through the blue curtain of the translocator, the Helm still tucked under her arm, Anu'Shukhet pacing at her heels like a massive armoured dog. Jaina would have liked to replace the Helm in her chamber, but Starkweather was running headlong down the great staircase in front of the Citadel, giving her no time to return the artifact.

"What's going on?" she shouted. Everyone else in the vicinity was moved to action as well; adventurers were running and calling, pulling on cloaks and armour, while gryphons and windriders took to the air. Jaina caught the words 'Vrykul' and 'ambush' amidst the clutter of languages. A wave of relief, followed directly by churning guilt, swept over her.  _Vrykul are living- I can't be expected to control them!_ Anu'Shukhet halted, accosted by a squad of her warriors.

"I will follow on the ground," said the Spiderlord.

"Very well. We may require your forces to halt their retreat. Be as swift as you can." Then Starkweather turned to Jaina, thrusting the reins of a placid skeletal gryphon at her. "We need to fly, now. I'll explain on the way!" The Death Knight leapt aboard his own mount and waited impatiently for Jaina, eyes flicking to the overcast sky. The undead beast turned its head toward Jaina and bumped its thick beak against her shoulder. In a warm flesh and blood creature, the gesture would have drawn a smile from Jaina and reciprocal affection, but instead she flinched and swiftly mounted. She and Starkweather spiraled up on rapid wing-beats. "They came out of the mountains to the east," the Death Knight yelled. The gryphons were near silent in flight but up here the winter wind sang without obstruction. "Ambushed a group of adventurers patrolling the edge of the glacier! One of them got away, sent up the alarm. The group's pretty well dug in defensively, but the Vrykul- well, there's a lot of them and they're spitting mad!"

Jaina nodded vigorously to show she had heard. "What's the second problem?"

"They brought a bunch of Scourge with them, mostly canon fodder, a couple mages and Nerubians. Nerubians turned on the Vrykul," he said and grimaced. "It's just what you thought Anu'Shukhet and her friends were up to; without the Lich King's hand on them, all they want is revenge and they're taking it on anything that moves, including our people."

The skirmish was visible from the air as they descended. The Vrykul force was assembled in regimented knots, easily identified by their warcries and pale hair. Scattered among them were their Scourge allies, the unlucky group of adventurers, and the vengeful undead Nerubians. Jaina reined her gryphon after Starkweather's, following him toward the fringes of the conflict.

Abruptly, the gryphon jerked hard mid-flight, rolling almost completely over and making Jaina scramble for a handhold. She found the beast's scapula with her free hand, legs kicking over empty air, the Helm of Domination clutched precariously under her other arm.

"Starkweather!" she shouted in alarm but he was too far off to hear. Jaina gulped. From where she hung across her mount's belly as it struggled to regain altitude, she could see a barbed harpoon shot through its skeletal body, hooked on its open ribcage. She kicked at the spear but couldn't dislodge it. Her gloved fingers burned with cold, clenched against the bare bone of the gryphon's shoulder blade and she felt herself slipping. Two Vrykul men stood their ground below her, reeling in the line. They leered up at her, chuckling to each other, and Jaina felt heat rising on her cheeks. She narrowed her eyes, indignant at their ignorance.  _Who do you think you're ogling?_  she fumed.

Jaina had always been slender and delicate, fair-skinned, blue-eyed, and carried herself with elegance and purpose. For the first two decades of her life, she found people didn't entirely take her seriously because something so lovely and fragile certainly couldn't be anything _dangerous_. Her talent at magic and persistence had convinced Antonidas to teach her and he had not been disappointed, but still she had endured looks even in Dalaran of patronizing indulgence.

Jaina Proudmoore did not like being patronized, or ogled. She glared down at the two Vrykul.  _You're going to regret this!_  She twisted her head, grabbed the lining of the Helm in her teeth, leaving her hand free to yank her wand from her belt, then she let go of the struggling gryphon. Without a physical reagent, the slow fall incantation was less potent than she wanted, but Jaina's magic was amplified by emotion and instead of smashing into the frozen earth, she landed hard on her feet directly in front of the Vrykul. Before he could react, she blasted him backwards with a single fireball.

The other Vrykul man shouted, dropped the harpoon line and pounced on her. Jaina pivoted on her heel, showering him with needles of arcane power. He tumbled to the ground, unconscious. She snorted triumphantly.  _The size of a mage has nothing to do with the strength of their magic!_  She tucked the Helm back under her arm, tasting musty fur from where she had clenched the armour in her teeth by its padding.

There was a snarl too close for comfort and Jaina whirled to confront a trio of crypt fiends; eyeless, dessicated, undead Nerubian soldiers, trailing stinking ichor and tattered funeral wrappings. Jaina took a step back. They clicked their mandibles together and raised their heads as though tracking her by smell. Although these were hardly taller than she was and lightly armoured, their ghastly appearance and strange attention unnerved her.

 _Leave me alone,_  she pleaded. It was the wrong action to take. The coarse hairs on the crypt fiends' backs stood straight up and they tossed their heads, keening a wordless howl so high-pitched Jaina wasn't sure she was actually hearing it. Then they charged.

Reflex alone accounted for Jaina's next action: she needed her hands free to use magic effectively and she was once again carrying the Helm. She jammed it on her head. The world went hazy and she almost failed to dodge as the transition jarred her, stumbling back out of reach just in time. The attacking Nerubian slashed at her again, while one of the others reared up for a piercing strike, the third moving to flank her. Her attention was too divided; the battle as it was and as it appeared in the lambent white world of the Helm confused her and slowed her. Annoyed, Jaina tried to concentrate, to clear her head as she aimed a fireball. Her magic answered faithfully, honed by years of study and dedication. The slashing crypt fiend was knocked head over heels into its companion by the strike, but the one behind her closed in before Jaina could retaliate.

She dropped to the snow at the last moment, watching the beast's rotting claws clutch ineffectually at the air where she had been. She rolled to her knees and used both hands to incinerate the chattering corpse with a firewall. Jaina sat down hard, panting, elated. This, too, was something she knew how to do, Lich King or not. She could fight; she could defend herself and she could defend others.

The misty vision of the Helm crystallized, focusing her attention. She found she was seeing, or sensing, through the undead around her, their added scope making her aware of angles of attack, of weapons and stances and would-be ambushes that should have been invisible to her. She had eyes on the back of her head. Jaina pressed her lips into a hard grin and went to work.

* * *

Kel'Thuzad carefully descended the ridge, watching the battle ebb and flow on the tundra below him. He had followed the voice of his minions and his Master to this place, slipping across the glacier undetected and unmolested. The closer he drew, the stronger the binding of the link became and he knew that the vessel containing his Master was down there, engaged in this petty skirmish. He caught flashes of fear, brief victory, and overwhelming uncertainty from the neophyte Lich King. Its power stuttered and wobbled, untrained and untapped. He was not too late.

The disguised lich crouched, sliding on the soles of his ragged boots, starting a tiny avalanche with his progress. Kel'Thuzad caught a sliver of rock protruding through the snow and stopped. There were heroes below him in the battle, both Horde and Alliance by their colours, bellowing Vrykul, animated skeletons, plague hounds, ghouls and crypt fiends and, as he scanned the melee, Tirion Fordring.

A wash of anger and then a deep sense of foreboding came over the lich. Was this his new Master? The aged paladin would never listen to his counsel, would never agree to use necromantic powers, no matter how convincing Kel'Thuzad knew he could be. He did not look forward to trying to murder the wily old man either: Arthas had never managed it and had succumbed to his might in the end. If he could not, what hope did Kel'Thuzad have? He knew himself well enough to estimate the extent of his own powers and they fell woefully short of the Lich King's.

Before he could fully debate the situation with himself, a bolt of terror ripped into the link, catapulting Kel'Thuzad down the incline with blind loyalty.  _My Master requires aid!_  He couldn't pinpoint the individual towards whom he raced, but he could see a wall of furious crypt fiends and Vrykul ringed around something with a pounding heart and mounting fear of death. Kel'Thuzad slid to a halt, raised both hands, and regardless of who was watching, unleashed fatal, frozen hell on the enemies threatening his King.

Frostbolts slammed into the gathered crypt fiends, tearing gaping holes in their already fractured armour, shattering limbs, severing torsos from abdomens, and scattering the remains in a broad arc. Those left standing turned and saw him: death marching toward them with grim purpose, the ragged burgundy cloak unfurling on the arctic wind behind him like a warning. The Vrykul howled a challenge. No nameless Scourge mage had the strength to do what he was doing and they knew it. Kel'Thuzad didn't care. They wouldn't survive long enough to tell anyone.

* * *

Jaina deftly avoided a reaching crypt fiend only to stumble within range of a looming Vrykul warrior. Without hesitation, he cocked his fist and punched her in the face. The force of the blow flung Jaina backwards, light and dark exploding across her vision. She hit the ground meters away, gasping, jaw throbbing with agony, blood filling her mouth. She coughed and struggled to stand, blinking to clear tears of pain and surprise.

The Vrykul who had struck her was frozen in place, a thick layer of ice immobilizing everything but his frantic eyes, victim of her mage's instincts. As she stood, dazed and gingerly wiping blood from her lips between the cheek plates of the Helm, she watched the man suffocate inside the tomb of ice, fury and horror warring within her until it was too late and he went limp.

Jaina turned away, shaken.  _He was going to kill you_. But the Vrykul were living people, however misguided they might be, and Jaina had willfully killed this one.  _This isn't the time or place for a moral debate!_  Jaina snapped to attention, swallowing a quantity of blood, and surveyed the immediate area. She had ended up at the heart of the battle, occasionally finding herself alongside one of the valiant adventurers, once coming face-to-face with Starkweather, who had attempted to shepherd her back towards the edge of the fray. The gesture was short-lived as Jaina was forced in one direction and he in the other by a berserker Vrykul swinging a hammer the size of a pony.

She had been surrounded at one point, her omniscient vision stretched to its maximum keeping track of her opponents, and then miraculously, half of them had turned away to attack some more immediate threat. Jaina didn't question the blessing; she had fled and fought her way back toward Starkweather.

"We having fun?" Xochi, the Troll Death Knight, popped up beside her, arms crossed over his chest, a dripping sword in each fist.

"Sure," panted Jaina, frost magic surging from her fingers with puffs of steam. "How many of these things are there?"

"Plenty fo' ev'ryone!" grinned the Troll, and he launched himself at a Vrykul sorceress. It wasn't really the answer Jaina was looking for. She dispatched another crypt fiend and felt something brush against her hip. Adrenaline-quick, she whipped around and discovered a plague hound backed up against her, the wrist of an undead Nerubian Seer in its jaws. Its face was scored with clawmarks and burns, but the dog held on stubbornly as the dying insectoid mage fought with it. Jaina hesitated only for a moment, then blasted the Seer through the chest. The hound sank to the ground beside her, apparently exhausted, black blood drooling from its maw. It showed no aggression towards her at all.

Suddenly, something struck her in the back, appearing faster than any of the undead she was watching through could register. She went face-first into the snow, rolling as she shielded herself with ice, cringing away from a deafening bellow of rage. She heard the plague hound bark once, then an enormous shadow eclipsed the wan afternoon light. There was no mistaking this beast looming above her for Anu'Shukhet: it lacked the brilliance of her colours and its limbs were bound with putrid rags, but it had her shape and her staggering size.

"Oh Light no..." she gasped and brought her hands up, drawing the arcane into a searing tide within her. The Crypt Lord roared in wordless anger and she knew that it recognized exactly what she was and it  _hated_  her. Jaina clenched her aching jaw and unleashed the torrent of magic. The missiles bored smoking holes through the Crypt Lord's carapace but it came on, baying with insanity and pain, throwing its entire weight down at Jaina, intending to crush her. She flung up her ice shield, doubting it would do much good.

" _My King-!"_

There was a burst of light and the Crypt Lord toppled, suddenly bereft of its two front legs. Jaina sat up, panting and confused. The plague hound skittered out of the swirl of battle and flung itself across her lap, a tired growl rattling defiantly in the pit of its throat at the attacking Nerubian. However, before the Crypt Lord could heave itself forward or move to attack her again, something impacted its chest, tearing a hole through the armoured carapace, vaporizing its entrails, and throwing the broken corpse twenty meters back. Jaina gasped and her fingers tightened reflexively in the plague hound's matted fur.

For a split second, Jaina glimpsed a figure through the churning battle, a lone Scourge mage with a shredded red cloak. Its skeletal hands and empty eye sockets glowed with blue-white magic as it hovered, rotating in the air, casting relentlessly at the closing circle of opponents it had attracted.

Then the wall of struggling fighters closed and she lost sight of her momentary saviour. She looked down at the ragged hound lying stiffly protective across her legs.  _I killed the living and the undead saved my life._  Carefully pushing the Scourge dog off her, she stood, trembling, and made her way towards the edge of the melee.

She found Starkweather standing shoulder-to-shoulder with a white-haired Draenei warrior and slipped behind them, earning curious glances from the other adventurers and Ashen Verdict casters working in the refuge created by their metal-clad companions. The plague hound accompanied her, slinking with its ribs pressed to her calf. No one took offense at its presence and Jaina found she couldn't banish the thing back to the battle.

Slowly, the will of the Vrykul and their Scourge allies faltered and collapsed. The undead Nerubians had been crushed by multiple opponents and by the time Anu'Shukhet and her squad arrived, there was little left to do but comfort the injured, much to the Spiderlord's disappointment.

Jaina sat still on a snow-topped boulder, cringing as a scarred Druid turned her swollen jaw this way and that before laying green-glowing fingers to the injury. She held the Helm loosely in her lap. The plague hound lay beside her, chin on its paws, watching the Tauren heal Jaina's wound.  
"Does it bite?" Jaina looked up. A human woman, bundled up to the chin in furs, pointed at the undead dog. Judging from the quiver slung across her shoulders and the hyena skulking protectively beside her, Jaina guessed she was a hunter. She had never met a hunter that didn't ask about a companion animal first and about the owner second. It made her smile.

"I don't know," she replied honestly and cautiously patted the plague hound's head. "It hasn't tried biting anyone who wasn't attacking me." The huntress knelt and took off her mitten, extending her palm to the hound. It stretched forward minutely and sniffed, then pulled back and curled up, putting its nose under its ragged tail.

"Aw, its shy!" chortled the huntress and withdrew with a nod to Jaina, nudging her pet before her.

"There you are," said the Druid at last and stood up, blocking out the setting sun with her thick shadow.

"Thank you," replied Jaina and yawned, working her tingling jaw. It felt fine. As the Tauren turned away, Jaina saw Tirion Fordring approaching. His cloak was pulled askew but his stride was confident and yet Jaina saw he was frowning.

"What is it, Highlord?" she asked.

"I took a prisoner during the battle," he said gravely, "And he is asking for you."

"For me?" she said, unnamed misgivings flickering to life.

"For the Lich King."

Jaina's gaze dropped to the Helm, held easily between her hands. "Very well," she said, "Take me to this prisoner."

They crunched across the site of the battle, the frozen ground tilled by struggling feet and sprinkled with blood of several colours. Jaina kept her eyes on Fordring's back until they reached their destination.

"Your King deigns to meet with you, Scourge," said Fordring, voice sharpening on the final word. He stood aside and extended his hand to Jaina, who looked up and halted, startled. Before her was the skeletal, red-cloaked mage who had shot the Crypt Lord off her during the fight. A hard-eyed Ashen Verdict warrior stood to either side of him gripping his arms and black iron shackles bound his wrists.

For a long moment, the undead mage simply stared at her. She could sense very little from him, only surprise and dedication, a fierce, unswerving loyalty that shocked and frightened her with its thoroughness. Then he threw off the men holding him fast and flung himself down before her in the snow, long hands stretched out in supplication towards her boots.

"My King," he rasped, voice brittle as the arctic wind, "My King, I am your loyal servant. If I have displeased you in any way, I beg you take my life in payment!" His captors hauled him up but he kept his head bowed to her, his trembling bound hands upraised. Jaina swallowed and looked to Fordring.

"I- No, you haven't displeased me," she said finally when she got no cue from the paladin, "I saw you defend me during the battle and I- I thank you." She turned aside and murmured to Tirion, "What are you going to do with him?"

The paladin chewed his lip. "I was going to question him, if he seemed likely to answer and he does. After that, it's up to you." Jaina remembered the mage's actions.  _He is powerful, no doubt about that. And-_  Her mind jumped unbidden to Starkweather and his cohorts, friendly enough to her face but plotting darkly behind her back.  _He is loyal._  She turned the Helm over in her hands and slowly donned it, never taking her attention off the captive mage. She touched his mind and found her earlier suspicions confirmed in unflinching simplicity. He was utterly her servant, willing to do whatever she commanded, slaved to the will of the Lich King.

"My King- my Lady-" begged the mage, "Do not let them kill me! I can be useful! I swear to do whatever you ask!"

Jaina straightened up. "Release him, please," she addressed the Ashen Verdict. They did, but she saw the pair loosen their swords and tense as the Scourge mage slowly raised his head. "You will do all that I ask," she said, fighting revulsion as she stared at the bare skull, the pointed roots of exposed teeth, the coarse tangle of gray hair stuck to the crown of his head. "You will answer each of my questions," she continued, "and you will not harm any living creature."

"Yes, my King," he replied. His tone had changed and she was aware of his calm. His King had assured him that he was safe and that was all that mattered. It was so complete and vivid that it chilled her.  _I have never liked sycophants but this is obscene_.

"Do you have a name?" she asked, uncomfortable with such devotion.

"I am Kazimir Frostblood," he replied and bowed slightly. "It is my honour to serve my King," then he shifted and looked up slightly, "Or do you prefer 'Queen'?"

Jaina pondered for a moment. No one else had asked her what her title was and Jaina herself wasn't entirely sure.

"You may call me your King. I was Lady Proudmoore once, but I'm not anymore."


	4. Lawful Evil

**Chapter 4 – Lawful Evil**

The chains were heavy on his wrists. If he needed to, Kel'Thuzad could melt the iron in seconds. Given seconds more, he might reforge it into hair-thin slivers and send them flying white-hot at his guards. That would give him away instantly however, as no rank-and-file Scourge reanimator was capable of such magic.

So he let them shoulder him along, content to drag his feet and thankful his body language couldn't be read by the living unless they spent an inordinate amount of time in his presence.

_Jaina Proudmoore,_ he thought, still amazed that the universe worked in such profoundly incomprehensible ways. No, now was not the time to ponder the machinations of fate, nor think of the Lich King by her name. He was not supposed to know it; the battle mages of the Scourge were not Dalaran-trained, they were hedge wizards mostly, capable of modest magics, competent but controlled, augmented by undeath. If they knew Jaina Proudmoore's name, they likely wouldn't know her face, and they certainly wouldn't understand the extent of her powers.

Kel'Thuzad kept his eyes forward as the Ashen Verdict escorted him across the glacier toward Icecrown Citadel. He gave every appearance of docility, gentled by the word of his King. The fighters began ignoring him after ten minutes.

Icecrown was much changed. The last time Kel'Thuzad had been inside the Citadel it was still under construction and crews of waddling abominations and scampering geists had been streaming in and out, neatly avoiding him as he moved through the dark edifice, quietly delighting in the progress his Master was making. Everything had been coming together, moving inexorably towards the Lich King's total dominion over Azeroth.

Except it hadn't been so inexorable after all. Kel'Thuzad forced his mind to other subjects and added those memories to the vault of thoughts best left un-pondered.

He and his guards traversed the entire entrance hall and swung left inside Marrowgar's chamber. Someone had pushed the lifeless bones of the Citadel's gatekeeper into a neat pile against the wall. Kel'Thuzad noticed that the construct's ax was absent and wondered briefly whether it was hung on a trophy wall somewhere, or if some enterprising enchanter had dissociated the fearsome weapon into its component parts.

An inconspicuous doorway lead them into a short corridor lit by cold blue flames. Kel'Thuzad suspected someone had already tried blowing out the frostfire torches and discovered it to be impossible. His guards ignored the eerie glow and entered a small room whose original purpose Kel'Thuzad couldn't begin to guess. He had actually spent very little time in the Citadel; his dealings on the glacier were next door in the Cathedral of Darkness that housed, inspired and instructed members of the Cult who had been deemed worthy of undeath.

_Rather eccentric name for a place of such gravity and power_ , thought the disguised lich,  _Definitely one of the names chosen_ before _Tirion Fordring destroyed Arthas' heart..._

"The prisoner, Highlord," announced one of the guards.  _Speak of the devil and he shall appear._ Tirion Fordring looked like he had aged decades in the months since Kel'Thuzad had last glimpsed the old paladin across the battlefield. He sat with a puzzling air of defeat in his posture, broad shoulders bowing inwards as though his sanctified pauldrons weighed on him like guilt, and his eyes had the wretched, gutted look of someone who cared too much and lost too much.

Kel'Thuzad had no sympathy for the man.

 

"You're no canon fodder," said the paladin without greeting. He wrote something on the parchment before him, then laid the quill aside and folded his hands, eyes going hard as he met Kel'Thuzad's gaze.

"No," replied the lich.

"And you didn't arrive with the Vry'kul."

"No."

"How did you come to be involved in the battle?"

"I obeyed my King."

Fordring leaned back slightly, snowy eyebrows pinching together. "Lady Jaina called you?"

"No, she did not. I heard her distress and I came to her aid."

"Yes. You clearly have a will of your own. Why is that?"

"I was a commander of some minor importance in our King's eastern arcane legion."

"And where is the rest of this legion?"

"Scattered. Mindless. Turned to ashes," answered Kel'Thuzad without emotion.

"How did you come to survive the battles in Icecrown?"

"I was in the mountains, waiting for a contact."

"A contact?"

"A spy."

The paladin squared his shoulders and tightened his fingers' grip on each other. "What... sort of spy?"

Kel'Thuzad was silent for a calculated moment. "A paladin of the Argent Dawn," he replied. Some of the tension dissipated from Fordring's frame. He picked up the quill and made a note on his parchment.

"Your King has spared your life, such as it is, and bid me inform you that you may reside in the Citadel on the recommendation of your loyalty. This is more leniency than the Scourge would show a captured prisoner," said the paladin, making a noticeable effort not to clench his teeth, and Kel'Thuzad knew the man was thinking of his peer, Bolvar Fordragon, who the Lich King had tortured to death on the chains above his Throne.

"Now," the paladin continued, "you told Lady Jaina you could be 'useful'. What use might that be?"

"I am a loyal soldier," Kel'Thuzad answered immediately, "a leader requires obedient soldiers."

"There is nothing for you to fight," said Fordring. "Your King is not going to order you into battle as you were once ordered. Do you understand this?"

Kel'Thuzad paused and glanced left, then right, at the pair of grim-faced men framing him before Fordring's desk. "I... I will do what my King wishes," he said, with just enough hesitation. The old paladin cocked his head.

"You have much more free will than most Scourge. The first I've come across," said Fordring, suddenly suspicious. Kel'Thuzad took a step back as the paladin rose to his feet. "What is the real reason you came to the Citadel? I know the colours and trappings you wear- you were trained by the Cult of the Damned, weren't you? You're a necromancer."

"Yes," said Kel'Thuzad quickly, "but I came only to defend my King-"

"I don't trust you, Scourge. Such an aura of darkness surrounds you that it sickens me."

Kel'Thuzad stiffened, straightening out of his submissive slouch. "You know nothing of darkness. You know nothing of loyalty, nothing of- urk!" One of the guards hoisted the sorcerer off his feet by his cloak and yanked him backwards. Indignation and embarrassment flashed through Kel'Thuzad's mind, igniting fury he kept carefully subdued. "How  _dare_  you-!"

"I dare! Now settle down!" Fordring wasn't yelling but he was definitely not using an indoor voice. "You studied necromancy," he continued, instantly composed, "and it may be the only reason I don't have you destroyed. There are traps and arcane locks within the Citadel warded against the living  _and_  the Forsaken. You will serve by dismantling them."

"I will do  _nothing_  for you, paladin," Kel'Thuzad muttered, still piqued by the guard's action and Fordring's lack of respect. He itched to give the man just a taste of his power. It would end in his own destruction, but it would be such a joy to see the paladin's surprise and terror when he realized who he was truly facing, to see all the righteous sense of betrayal and hatred crash through that pious mask and release the vengeful animal beneath.

"You'll not be doing it for me," Fordring glowered, perhaps intuiting Kel'Thuzad's lethal schemes, "you will be serving your King." The lich reined in his imagination and relaxed, folding his hands before him in penitence.

"In the name of the King, then."

"Take him to the upper balconies," Fordring ordered, "and keep an eye on him." Kel'Thuzad threw the Highlord one final, venomous glance and exited with his guards.  _The only paladin I ever really liked was Arthas._

The two Ashen Verdict men took Kel'Thuzad through a series of transporters and stairways until they emerged on the outside of the Citadel, so high up that the evening ice-fog obscured the lower reaches of the great black building. The living guardsmen winced at the sting of the wind and tensed their shoulders in their cloaks.

"No one's gone over this section yet," said one of the men. He snorted to unfreeze the insides of his nose from each other and continued, "There's been poison traps and ambushes triggered on the ledges further down." They both tucked their hands into their armpits and watched expectantly while Kel'Thuzad took his bearings, getting used to the way the wind tugged on his cloak. It seemed to suck him towards the chiseled edge of the balcony. Without further heed of the guards, he approached the railing, little more than a spiked chain strung between squat iron pillars. It was mostly there, he knew, to remind the abominations that ambling over the edge would lead to themselves irreparably splattered on the permafrost.

There were no traps up here. The lich knew even before sweeping his eyes and mind over the place. Something this high was in the realm of the frostwyrms and they would defend it better than any cleverly-set poison dart or pack of silent geists. The Ashen Verdict didn't know this, so Kel'Thuzad meandered along the balcony, weighing the costs and benefits of throwing his guardsman into the grasping wind.  _It would be momentarily satisfying, but lead to unnecessary complications later._

"There is nothing here," he said finally, after they had completed a slow stroll around the entire ledge. Kel'Thuzad watched the guards trade a look of relief and they tossed their heads, directing him to walk in front of them back into the relative warmth and protection of the Citadel.

The Ashen Verdict had to sleep sometime and that night, the lich found himself in Fordring's office again, being handed off to an unusual new keeper.

"I expect both of you to be whole and unharmed tomorrow morning," said the paladin, looking from the Scourge sorcerer to the crippled Nerubian Seer crouched in the opposite corner of the small room. Fordring nodded to it. "Give my thanks to Anu'Shukhet for providing this solution, Imuruk."

"I will relay your gratitude," said Imuruk the Seer smoothly. He spoke perfect Common but with a soft, and oddly familiar, accent. Kel'Thuzad said nothing and followed the Nerubian out of the paladin's office when he gestured. They traveled in silence to the rear of the Citadel, halting at a broken rampart roped off and hung with signs proclaiming its instability. There were no nefarious spells immediately in evidence and the lich was automatically suspicious.

"I suppose your Underking tasked you with my death," he said to the Seer.

"No," said his grim escort, "She does not know I've come."

"You lied to the paladin."

"As have you."

The lich stopped and faced Imuruk. "What lie is that?" he asked. "Do you question my oath to my King?" Half of the Seer's face was disfigured, the chitin pitted and twisted. Deep gouges with melted edges suggested an acid burn, and the deliberate pattern suggested intent.  _Someone tortured him._ He had lost three of his six eyes and his mandibles didn't close correctly.

"I know what you truly are," said Imuruk, yellow eyes boring into Kel'Thuzad with such unnerving confidence that the lich was momentarily convinced. He called up his power just in case.

"Do you."

Imuruk shook his ravaged head. "I care not what business you have with the humans and I don't deal in blackmail- put your magic away, lich." Kel'Thuzad did no such thing.

" _How_?" he had to know, taking a step toward the Seer. In response, Imuruk crossed his four arms, clawed hands closing on the hilts of four squat daggers sheathed in leather vambraces at his elbows. He drew them but instead of brandishing them, simply turned the handles so Kel'Thuzad could see the engravings on the side normally hidden against his forearms.

Suddenly Imuruk's accent made sense. "That's highly improbable," the lich said, stunned. Imuruk shrugged.

"Perhaps."

"It makes no difference to me," said Kel'Thuzad ominously.

"I did not come to threaten you, or to beg for mercy. I know better than to hope either would work," he hissed and unconsciously raised one hand to touch his destroyed face.  _The Scourge did this to him? But when? And why? During the War of the Spider, Nerubians were simply killed and reanimated._ Imuruk continued. "If I can see through your disguise, there will be others that can as well. I can protect you from their sight. In exchange for that, do as you wish with the humans, but leave Anu'Shukhet in peace."

Kel'Thuzad chuckled darkly. "Now I know your secret, and your weakness. That wasn't smart."

Imuruk folded his hands politely at his waist. "You know one of my secrets. And my  _only_  weakness."

Distantly, Kel'Thuzad wished he had eyebrows to raise. "You're bold. I'll give you that. And when my plans bring your leader into direct conflict with my leader?"

"I don't believe they will. Lady Jaina will never be the tyrant Arthas Menethil became, but she carries the same arcane secrets with her title, the secrets that drove you to embrace that power willingly in the first place. You are bound to the Lich King, Kel'Thuzad, no matter who that is."

Kel'Thuzad leaned away from the Nerubian sharply.  _He knows my name._ He struggled with a mix of pride, fury, and frustration, and slammed a shaking fist into his other palm to force himself calm.

"The Lady King could not ask for a more competent tutor," Imuruk continued, „Please, consider my offer. It is to both of our benefit."

"Flattery will get you nowhere," growled Kel'Thuzad and forced the Seer toward the edge of the precipice. Imuruk tightened his hooked feet against the stone, crafty tips finding the tiniest purchase in the rough surface so that it appeared he was perching in defiance of gravity.

"Kill me and you will reveal yourself for what you truly are!" challenged Imuruk, heedless of his position. The lich stalked him with fitfully glowing hands. "Once they know you're alive, they will never cease hunting you!" Kel'Thuzad faltered. "What good is immortality if you spend it running?" He stopped. He wanted nothing more than to end the meddling Seer but Imuruk was right: he could be found out, he could be destroyed, he could spend eternity as a miserable fugitive. Diplomacy prevailed. Kel'Thuzad silenced his magic, but his mind was reeling. He turned away and heard the soft scrabble of Imuruk's clever feet hauling him up to safety.

"You claimed you didn't deal in blackmail," the lich said evenly, though inside he was fuming.

"That wasn't blackmail," countered Imuruk, cautiously approaching Kel'Thuzad. "It was honesty. I am what I am; you are what you are. There's no need for us to be in conflict. Our goals are not so different. In fact, I think we are quite similar."

Kel'Thuzad grabbed the Seer's scrawny throat in one hand and hauled him down til they were eye-to-eye.

"It was blackmail and you know it, insect!" Then he released Imuruk and tapped his teeth thoughtfully with one finger. "Although, I must admit it had a certain elegance to it." Imuruk clapped his top set of hands delightedly.

"Do you think so?"

"You're a strange creature."  _But not without your potential uses..._

* * *

Kel'Thuzad spent the next ten days disarming traps and opening locked doors, under constant guard. After his initial quarrel with Tirion Fordring, he kept his temper tightly controlled and had been the very picture of obedience while he worked on making the Citadel safe for the living. After the first three days, a knight of the Ebon Blade had joined his two appointed Ashen Verdict guards. The Death Knight was there mostly out of curiosity it appeared, as the Troll amiably held tools and asked questions while Kel'Thuzad wrangled with a device that was more Gnomish ingenuity than it was Scourge malice. The Troll hung around for another day until he seemed satisfied that the skeletal mage was quite tame. It was an assessment that Kel'Thuzad was comfortable with for the time being. The less of a threat he seemed to be, the more freedom he would gain to move as he wished within the Citadel. Trading unfriendly words with Fordring was almost expected in the context of their roles and gradually, his guards relaxed and turned from wariness to boredom.

Imuruk was his keeper each night. He never again made mention of their deal, or spoke Kel'Thuzad's real name. The lich found him more interesting company than the Ashen Verdict and spent his time silently guessing about the Seer's facial disfigurement and improbable history rather than muse on the disturbing truths the Nerubian had stumbled on the first night.  _I made my oath to a spirit trapped in ice before it had a physical form. I am immortal, but I am not free._

On the eleventh day, Kel'Thuzad was sitting cross-legged on the floor, disarming a pressure panel. It was triggered by the physical application of weight, but set with magic of a black and sadistic sort that was both brilliant and frustrating. He cocked his head, pondering the weave of the spell.

"Frostblood! Why is this thing following me?"

Kel'Thuzad snapped alert and his guards jumped in surprise. Lady King Jaina stood six feet from him, hands on her hips, dark circles under her eyes, and a blue-furred plague hound skulking at her heels.

"My King," he said immediately and bowed his head, but Jaina wasn't interested in shows of submission.

"This thing hasn't left me alone since the fight with the Vry'kul," she said, annoyed. "How do I make it go away?"

Kel'Thuzad stood up, summoning a sharp blue glow with one hand. "Kill it."

She hurriedly stepped in front of the hound. "No," she said firmly, "It hasn't done anything... wrong. I just want to know why it's following me everywhere. I'd rather it didn't."

Kel'Thuzad eyed the plague hound. "Did you feed it?"

"No," she replied, exasperated, then paused, "Do they need feeding?"

The lich nodded. "Did you touch it?"

"During the fight, yes. It threw itself on me and I might've touched it then."

"Did you pet it?"

"Not really. Maybe by accident."

"Did you speak gently to it?"

"...possibly. A bit. I might've told it to be a nice doggie and stop following me. How do I get rid of it  _without_  killing it?"

Kel'Thuzad knelt and resumed carefully plying the layers of the trap spell, unraveling them. "My King, you are our Master. We know this. And I can see that you are not the same King as before, but many of these creatures can't or don't recognize that." He paused, found the trigger and traced it slowly to its arcane origin. He had her full attention. "I know that you are living and you have a... an entire soul. Look around this place," he said and gestured to the imposing heights of the ceiling above them, the unending black of the walls. "How much individual attention do you think was given by our previous King, that wasn't a punishment or a command? Very little. Speaking directly to any one of us casually is a  _great_  honour. You might call it a kindness. That," he said, pointing at the hound, "is still a living animal, though changed by the plague. It might have been a dog once, or a wolf, but it was a thing that craved companionship and got none. You've made a friend."

Jaina looked down at the plague hound. It looked up and wagged its hairy tail. Kel'Thuzad saw a small smile bend the corner of her lips.

"That's all?" she asked, turning back to him. The disguised lich nodded. "I suppose I should feed it then. Thank you. What does it eat?"

"Absolutely anything," said Kel'Thuzad. "They seem to favour Gnomes."

"Oh dear, surely not! Perhaps Anu'Shukhet will share whatever she's been catching." He replaced the now-harmless floor panel and picked up the useful-looking pieces of the pressure trap.

"You probably don't want to know what she's been eating."

"Why?" she asked, perturbed.

"The Nerubians aren't affected by the plague of undeath, and it was once a tradition in their culture to eat their fallen enemies."

"You're kidding."

"You would be better off finding the beast something from the kitchen."

Jaina gaped at him. "There's a  _kitchen_  in here?"

"Of course. Those of the Cult not yet deemed worthy of undeath stayed here. They needed to eat."

"How has no one found this yet? I've been eating rations from the Ashen Verdict camp for three weeks!" she ranted.

"It's this way, my King," said Kel'Thuzad smugly.

She was back the next day, finding him as he was attempting to lock-pick a door with no visible frame or lock. He knew the door was there- although he hadn't managed to convince his guards entirely- but he couldn't yet discern the mechanism of entry.

She pursed her lips. "What of you, Kazimir Frostblood?" said the Lich King, without preamble.

"What of me, my King?" he echoed, puzzled.

"Are you going to follow me around like a hound?"  _Well, that's a bit offensive, isn't it? I suppose I don't seem human to her_.

"If you desire it, my King." She stood up on her tiptoes, watching him trace his fingertips over what appeared to be solid rock, waiting for the static charge to 'snag' on a prickle of the arcane.

"I don't. Ever," she said adamantly. "You have more... personality... than any of the other Scourge Tirion's brought in. You  _chose_  to come to me."

"I did." The truth in that statement was more profound and consequential than Jaina could know. "It was not a simple decision."  _Then or now._ The plague hound, now a fixture at her side, slunk under her empty hand and she scratched absently, to the beast's delirious joy.

"Because you don't like that I'm alive?" He found the end of the spell and yanked triumphantly. The wall groaned and a rectangular crack appeared. The guards were appropriately impressed.

"Our King was living once before, as were we all. It isn't my place to like or dislike anything in your dominion," he answered.

"The Forsaken are such a bitter, violent group and they're the ones who fought to break away from... from the Lich King before me." She looked down the long hallway towards a single square window, streaming pallid gray light. "I imagine the Scourge are literally incapable of expressing kindness, or caring, even for their King."

Kel'Thuzad paused before replying and this time it wasn't for effect.  _Is it that I've lost the ability to care, or that I simply don't see a reason to?_  The lich was bothered by the implications of the question, more than he might have imagined he would be. It paralyzed him for a moment.  _This isn't worth examining._  He thrust the thoughts deep into the vault of uncomfortable realities that held similar questions, most of his memories and what remained of his soul.

"I don't know how I should react to you, my King."

Jaina sighed. "That makes two of us."

"May I ask what you mean?"

"A month ago, I might've killed you without a thought. You are everything that is antithesis to me- undead, trained in the darkest uses of magic, a traitor to your people, and a murderer – you're an enemy by definition, but you're a  _subject_  by definition too. You're... I don't know. How much freedom do you have? Do you have your own opinions? Do you remember your life?"

Kel'Thuzad glanced at his guards, who were watching the exchange with rapt attention. It was the most excitement they'd seen since Kel'Thuzad had solved a geist trap by simply triggering it and killing them all while they mobbed the two men.

"I have freedom, but I know that you can over-ride it completely because I'm willing to let you. That's part of the bargain, when you're resurrected. Immortality in exchange for complete obedience. Yes, I have my own opinions, and yes, I remember my life, but neither of those things matter to you, my King."

"Well, maybe they do. I don't-" She paused.  _Don't what?_  he wondered. She looked past him at the guards.

"Leave us, please," Jaina ordered, "I want to talk with him alone." Kel'Thuzad sensed some trepidation from the two men, but they did as she asked.

When they were safely out of earshot, she continued, speaking rapidly and quietly, walking briskly back and forth. Kel'Thuzad put his back to the sealed door and waited. "I don't know how to control you, th-the Scourge. Or, rather I can't do it consciously. I did it once in panic, well, twice. I can see through their eyes and feel through their senses if I must, but I don't want to. I don't want to be feared. I don't want to be hated. I don't want an army. I thought it might be easier if we just destroyed the Scourge, but there's so many of you it seems a waste. If I could just convince you all not to kill people indiscriminately, the sheer size of this force has uncountable uses. And..." she paused, "I can hardly bear to admit it, but you're all... people, in the end, even the ones with nothing left of their mind. Aren't you?"

Kel'Thuzad was silent. He didn't think of the lower forms of undead as people. They were cannon fodder. The plague hound at Jaina's side was more intelligent, had more self-control, than those creatures. "No," he said, "most of the Scourge aren't 'people'."  _Far from it. Good conversation is maddeningly hard to come by._

"But-"

"My King, allow me to interrupt. I have learned some things about you. You were the leader of a living society once. This is different. You wanted  _respect_  from your people. You wanted them to like you and from what I have heard, you did very well."

Jaina smiled a little.

Kel'Thuzad did not. "The Scourge don't function on affection or respect. They respond to fear and control and awe. Show them you're strong, and that insolence is intolerable. I understand why you can't reach out and take control of us, of me:  _you don't want to_."

"I don't! But I didn't think it was a legitimate reason! It seemed so stupid." She stopped pacing, arms folded tightly, clutching her elbows with white fingers. "Magic is a quantifiable discipline. It works on measureable principles and predictable reactions. You don't need to  _believe_  in it to use it." She was repeating the words to herself as much as she was to him.

"No, but emotion can clarify a mage's focus," said Kel'Thuzad patiently and straightened up. Role-playing be damned; he couldn't lecture stooped over like a ghoul. "Strong emotion can strengthen your magic. The loss of power in a spell comes from the one  _casting_  it, as magic itself doesn't suffer entropy. Any deviation from the intended strength of the spell and the outcome stems from a flaw of the human mind, from a lack of intentional clarity.

"Even when a mage thinks they're concentrating, they're still distracted. Your eyes are open, taking in image upon image, and part of your mind is devoted to processing them. Your senses of smell, taste, and touch interfere too, and these are only the passive sources of entropy. Worry for your companions distracts you, fatigue distracts you, hunger, thirst, injuries..." Kel'Thuzad realized too late that he was speaking of topics that were only discussed at the very highest levels of arcane theory.

"How do you know these things?" Jaina asked quietly, suddenly still and alert. Kel'Thuzad quickly bowed his head.

"My King, I was well-trained."

"Only someone trained in Dalaran would ever encounter these ideas," she said, her voice rising slightly.

"Someone trained in Dalaran was the one who taught me." Blue fire flared in the back of her eyes, fluorescing briefly like a cats' in the darkness.

"Kel'Thuzad," she identified instantly. Kel'Thuzad enjoyed a brief spark of pride. "You were at the Scholomance, while he was still the Headmaster, then." The lich nodded. "And he taught you entropy control theory?" She looked furious and at the same time baffled.

"Yes," he said, hoping to prompt her beyond the source of his knowledge.

"How much did you learn?"

"I can't say, my King. I don't know how much there was to learn."

"This changes things. You must be far more powerful than I thought."

"Not necessarily," he said quickly. "I know the theories, but I can't perfect them, even after I was gifted with undeath. It made me a better mage, but not a legendary one. What do you know of entropy control?"

She measured him with a long, hesitant glance, then pursed her lips. "I know some mages argued that it was dangerous to research."

"Magic itself is not dangerous, nor good, nor evil."

She was nodding. "Of course not. But in order to increase the focus of a spell, to cut down on the chaos inherent through the distractions you named, some mages recommended the caster be in a state of pure emotion, be it ecstasy, anguish, rage, desperation... Anything potent enough that the caster would ignore all else except the intent of the spell. Other schools countered that meditation and physical transcendence could effect the same end."

"Or undeath," offered Kel'Thuzad. Jaina swallowed. "I have no sense of taste, or touch, or smell. Cold, heat, and pain don't bother me. In undeath, I am immediately devoid of these small distractions. I gain that extra measure of focus back without conscious effort."

"And lose your humanity doing it," she countered. "There is enough anecdotal evidence to support the hypothesis Scourge necromancers perfected the application of entropy control by creating liches. They lacked senses and couldn't feel pain or temperature, but they had no emotions either. It was part of what made them so powerful."

Kel'Thuzad shook his head. "The liches raised by the Scourge had their emotions severely dampened, but were still capable of extremes.  _That_  is what made them powerful."

The information derailed her only momentarily. "But," said Jaina, spreading her hands, "look at me. I'm the most powerful human mage in the world at the moment, and I'm living, with all of my senses and my distractions." Kel'Thuzad opened his jaws slightly in an unrecognizable grin.

"You would make a magnificent lich."

Jaina winced visibly. "I'll take that as a compliment." Then she looked down at the plague hound sitting beside her, purple tongue lolling joyfully over his irregular teeth. She patted his head. "I named him Dreilide, after my favourite bard."

"When you call him, do you call strictly with your voice, or your will?" asked Kel'Thuzad, with purely academic curiosity. Jaina glanced down at the dog.

"I'm not sure. We should try it!" She stood up and pulled her gloves out of her coat pockets, looking down the wide hallway towards a side door that lead into a flat courtyard.

"Ah, perhaps you should re-summon my guards, my King, lest they assume I've kidnapped you."

"You have a point. Honestly, I feel they've become unnecessary. Wait for me here," she said and he took it as an order, "I'll dismiss them." She scuffled off in fur-lined slippers, Dreilide jogging at her hip.

Kel'Thuzad found himself strangely uncomfortable with the idea of being alone in Jaina's presence. It wasn't Jaina, for she was so concerned with her own spiritual upheaval that she was no threat to him. It was being alone with the Lich King, or rather, a Lich King who wasn't Arthas.  _I knew him, and he knew me. We knew what to expect from each other._  There had been a great deal more transparency in that relationship than this one, Kel'Thuzad reminded himself, but knowing that didn't help remove the awkwardness he felt. Arthas had been a willing student of darkness, while Jaina was fighting it every step of the way and bending only when she could find a suitable righteous angle.  _On the other hand, Jaina didn't kill me with a hammer and likely won't remark on it to amuse herself._

The Lady King reappeared, guardless, and spent the next twenty minutes having Kel'Thuzad distract the plague hound in the courtyard, then calling it, sometimes by name and sometimes with a mental summons. Twice it brought Kel'Thuzad as well, and once she brought a gargoyle down from the spires above.

"I can do it," she said, as frightened by the knowledge as she was amazed.

"It is part of who you are, my King," Kel'Thuzad replied respectfully, secretly pleased.

Twenty more minutes elapsed in which Jaina concentrated on  _only_  summoning Dreilide. After she succeeded six times in a row without Kel'Thuzad feeling any compulsion at all to cross the snowy courtyard, Jaina patted the hound and took a seat on a broken piece of masonry.

She took a deep breath and said, "Magic itself is not good, or evil. The intent of the caster shapes it. Kazimir Frostblood, I suspect we have a very similar arcane foundation, if you were trained by Kel'Thuzad and instructed in something as elite as entropy control theory." She paused and Kel'Thuzad waited. "But you learned disciplines that I didn't and I think I need to understand them now." She looked up, visibly steeling herself. "Will you teach me what you know of necromancy?"

* * *

"I expect that warmed your black, frozen heart," said Imuruk, cocking his head to see Kel'Thuzad with his functional set of eyes.

"Perhaps if I had one," said the lich, "I didn't think she would ask. I anticipated that I would convince her necromancy was vital to her role." Despite Jaina's insistence that 'Kazimir Frostblood' no longer required supervision, Fordring had firmly denied Kel'Thuzad his entire freedom and continued to enlist Imuruk to watch him at night. The pair of them walked meandering laps around the Citadel on the glacier, casually patrolling. A few insomniac adventurers viewed them with passing interest.

"I think teaching her about what she fears might make it easier for her to come to terms with it," said the Seer optimistically. He was considerably less nervous out in the open than most Nerubians Kel'Thuzad had encountered. Something in his bizarre history had adapted him to life above ground.

"Precisely. The more she learns, the more I hope she views necromancy and those that practice it as necessary, rather than evil."

Imuruk paused and cocked his head. "Do you consider yourself evil, Kel'Thuzad?" he asked.

" _What_?"

Imuruk turned. "Do you think you're an evil man?"

Kel'Thuzad laughed in disbelief. "Of course not! I'm a man with convictions and ambition. Do you think because I practice necromancy that I'm evil? I pursued necromancy because it was difficult, because the Violet Citadel forbid it and feared it, as all mortal creatures fear death. Well, I am beyond death. And I am beyond evil." Imuruk was only half-listening. He stepped warily in circles as though he could hear something far off but couldn't determine what or where. "What of you, Seer? Your people have long been considered cruel and malicious by mine. Do you consider yourselves evil?"

"Hardly," said Imuruk, and then suddenly tensed and dropped into a defensive crouch. "You are in danger," he hissed urgently, spinning around and moving quickly sideways. Kel'Thuzad peered into the darkness but could see nothing amiss.

"What do you-?"

There was a breath of sound and then Imuruk brought two of his wrists together with a sharp  _clack_. Trapped between his vambraces was a dagger, trembling from the impact. Kel'Thuzad caught a glimpse of movement near the wall of the Citadel and power bloomed in his palm. Imuruk scrambled between the shadow and the lich, four hands reaching for the hilts of his short-bladed daggers.

Kel'Thuzad recognized the female Orc who emerged from the shadows as one of the Ebon Hold knights left in Jaina's employ when their Highlord returned to Acherus. Imuruk drew his weapons in silence and held them out-stretched, points down. The Death Knight flipped her runed axes in slow circles, eying Kel'Thuzad around the Seer's hip.

"Look, I've nothing against you, bug. Stand aside. I'm here for the necromancer."

"You're making a terrible mistake," Imuruk implored, motionless, "I have no wish to hurt you."

Kel'Thuzad was preparing to open a void zone under her when the Death Knight attacked. She moved quick as a snake, one ax thrown ahead of her, the other curled back over her shoulder for a severing strike. Kel'Thuzad dodged the projectile. Imuruk put his shoulder in her path and spun, turning her aside with her own momentum. Kel'Thuzad abandoned his affected slouch and rose into the air, levitating above the snow, ice crystallizing where Imuruk's breath steamed out as the lich's innate abilities manifested and dropped the temperature.

The Orc twisted aside, moving with deadly grace despite her armour and bulky winter clothes. Imuruk extended his hands again, the edges of the short blades glinting in the moonlight.

"It doesn't matter how many knives you have if you don't know how to use 'em," snorted the Orc and raised her remaining ax.

Imuruk flung the weapons straight down, the blades burying themselves in the packed snow. "They aren't knives," he said solemly, and with no visible effort, there was a ball of lightning turning and boiling between each pair of hands. "They're  _totems_." The Orc's split second of stunned amazement was illuminated in the combined glow of the shaman's lightning and Kel'Thuzad's frostbolt. With a roar, she blocked both spells against her runed axe. Imuruk flinched backwards, half-turning to Kel'Thuzad.

"Your King is in danger!" he gasped.

Kel'Thuzad didn't need an explanation. He whirled away, breaking from the fight, and flew with supernatural speed for the Citadel, leaving the Death Knight to Imuruk.

He could hear the altercation before he could see it. The deep  _boom_  of a frostbolt exploding against stone welcomed him to the corridor where Jaina had her chamber. The lich hastily dropped to his feet, skidding on the ice-slicked floor, and coming to an uncoordinated halt at the doorway.

The other two Ebon Hold knights had Jaina tentatively cornered. The human one extended his runeblade towards her, holding her attention while the Troll hung back in a supporting position. At first Kel'Thuzad couldn't understand why she simply didn't blast them both- and then he saw the plague hound. The Troll had a short length of twine twisted around its neck and was holding the beast's front paws off the floor. It was struggling weakly, hind feet scrabbling to give it purchase enough so it could gulp air in quick breaths.

Annoyance at Jaina's attachment to the hound was quickly replaced by approval that the two would think to hold it against her, followed with sweeping, irrational fury that anyone was threatening his King.

"Let him go!" she snapped at the Troll. "I'll force him to leave! You can have your fair fight, two on one!" Then she caught sight of Kel'Thuzad in the doorway. Her eyes didn't linger, switching instead to the human Death Knight, inching closer. "You stop right there or I'll have to-"

Kel'Thuzad shot the Troll through the neck. His fist convulsed on the noose and then he toppled to the ground. The lich knew he wasn't dead- an icicle to the cervical vertebrae would kill a living man but not an undead one- though with his spinal cord severed, he was a threat to no one. The plague hound sprang free, black lips peeled back from jagged ivory teeth as it lunged for the human man. Jaina got to him first, blasting him off his feet with a wave of force that slammed him into the wall hard enough to shake the furnishings in the room. He slid down and landed in a graceless heap.

Jaina stood there, panting, petting the plague hound's head with short, mechanical motions.

"What happened?" asked Kel'Thuzad.

"They were here to kill me, from the start," she said, "as soon as I showed any sign of... changing. They learned I had asked you to teach me necromancy and decided that was their cue." She swallowed hard and her hand curled into a fist atop the hound's head. "What of Strangleheart? They said she was sent to kill you."

"The Orc?"

Jaina nodded.

"I left her with Imuruk."

"With Imuruk! The poor old Seer? Kazimir, how could you? Go to him, now!" That was an order. Kel'Thuzad went without question. Truly, he didn't know the extent of the Nerubian's powers. The fact that he was a shaman was surprising, but it didn't instantly make him a good one. And the Death Knight was strong. The lich hurried.

When he arrived, Imuruk was collapsed face-down on the ice, a small puddle of green-black fluid collecting beneath his flank. The Orc lay in a heap several meters away. Kel'Thuzad ignored her and prodded the Nerubian with his toe.

"Imuruk." He got no response. After a moment, he leaned over and held a tendril of necromantic power above the shaman, teasing out the state of his body.  _Alive, unconscious._  He turned to the Orc and conducted the same test.  _Also alive and unconscious_. Kel'Thuzad pondered killing her outright. Would Jaina want a prisoner? Probably.

"Mmmmrrr..." said Imuruk and tried to lever himself up on his elbows. He failed and sprawled back on his face. Kel'Thuzad circled him. He was battered but the only wound leaking blood was a gash in a joint of his right hind leg. Given the Nerubian's physiology, the cut had probably severed the connective tissue between exoskeletal plates that allowed him to flex his leg, effectively ham-stringing the shaman. He had lost enough blood to render him unconscious but Nerubians were tough, and shamans were healers.

"Can you stand?" asked the lich.

"Nnnrrrgh," replied Imuruk and managed to push himself up using his arms until he appeared to be kneeling, though his foreign anatomy didn't really include knees in the traditional sense. He rubbed the burned side of his face, pushing his broken mandible back inline. "Ow."

"Why didn't you kill the Orc?"

"Not my place. Yours maybe, or the Lady King's."

"Interesting."

Imuruk was twice the height of the transformed lich, so helping him stand was awkward for both of them, especially as the shaman proved to be quite heavy. Kel'Thuzad watched his boots sink into the snow with a creak as Imuruk leaned on him.

"You needn't worry," said Imuruk, "I can heal myself."

"I'm not worried. My King was quite upset that I left you alone with the Death Knight and commanded me to return to you."

"I meant about carrying me. I'll be fine in a moment."

"Good. I'll grab the Orc then." Kel'Thuzad slipped his shoulder out from under the shaman's weight and crunched over to the Death Knight. He considered putting a frostbolt through her neck as he had done with the Troll but she was out cold. He caught a handful of her cape and unceremoniously dragged her towards the Citadel, Imuruk following at a determined limp.

News of the attempted assassination had evidently spread like wildfire, and as Kel'Thuzad and Imuruk reached the top of the stairs leading to the Citadel's front door, a mass of adventurers, Ashen Verdict, Kor'Kron and goblin peddlers had jammed the front hall. It was impassable.

"Round the side?" suggested the lich. There was a rumble and the ground jittered beneath them.

"It appears we won't have to bother," said Imuruk brightly. A moment later, his King appeared, fanning her wing covers and swinging her head side-to-side, clearly looking for something, or someone. Smaller species- that would be everyone present- scattered.

"Imuruk!"

"I'm here," he replied and Kel'Thuzad scrambled out of the way with undignified haste as Anu'Shukhet plowed across the stone plinth to reach the shaman with all the subtlety of an ice-breaker in a swimming pool.

"Are you hurt?"

"No. I was, but I'm fine now."

"I must bring this prisoner to the Lich King," Kel'Thuzad said and excused himself, dragging his unconscious prize down the corridor. He was not the first to arrive.

"-what I warned you of, but you are too soft and stupid to heed me!" brayed Garrosh Hellscream, thoroughly enraged. Kel'Thuzad halted in the doorway. Inches from Hellscream stood Tirion Fordring, the Ashbringer drawn and pulsing with energy, a deeply disapproving frown etched beneath his mustache. Perpendicular to them both, his back to Kel'Thuzad, was a tall figure with gray hair dressed in black armour. Lost in the background, wide-eyed and speechless, was Jaina Proudmoore.

For a moment, all he could do was watch.

"You are rash and thoughtless and inexperienced, Orc!" Fordring yelled back.

"You dare insult me, old man? My hand has sent a thousand of these monsters back to the Nether, while you ally yourself with them!" He stabbed a thick finger toward the man in the black armour.

"I am less monster than you, warmonger!" growled the man and Kel'Thuzad identified him as Thassarian, Darion Mograine's human lieutenant.

"I've been fighting this war since before you stopped moping and came to Azeroth, pup!" Fordring thundered, incensed.

"And losing every step of the way!" the young Hellscream countered, baring his teeth at the paladin and then the Death Knight. "I won't let you ruin my people with your indecision!"

"And I won't let you ruin mine with your brutality!"

" **Silence**."

Kel'Thuzad shrank back and found himself kneeling, incapable of movement, nevermind speech. The room was deathly quiet as all eyes turned to Jaina. Her pale hair lifted on ethereal currents and her eyes were full of searing light. Her voice was amplified by the chill of the weather, by the blood in the air, by the very walls of the Citadel, and she had no need to shout, only whisper.

"None of you have any say here. None of you know what is right. I have struggled to listen to each of you, I have fought this thing that I've become, I've despaired and I've procrastinated and I've longed for a way out. But there isn't one." She pointed to Tirion Fordring, her pale hand steady in the fur-trimmed sleeve. "You bid me learn control, but I can't control what I don't understand, and your principles will not let me learn." She pointed to Hellscream. "You would destroy me and risk setting this power free once more, to find a host that would relish it and let this chaos all begin again." She turned to Thassarian. "You hate me and fear me for being something I  _might_  become. And I'm telling all of you: not that I  _might_  not, that I  _will not_  be a source of suffering in this world. Ever!"

Her hands formed fists and she stepped between the three men, each of them slowly retreating. "You would only understand if it were you bearing this curse and I wouldn't wish it upon  _any_  of you! Don't tell me what to do! Don't talk about me like I'm helpless! Don't stand there and argue about who is better equipped to _make decisions for me because NONE OF YOU ARE!_ "

A small trickle of rock dust sifted down from the roof above.

"Get out of my Citadel," whispered Jaina, "you are free to camp on the glacier, and may come and go as you please anywhere in the North. But I will not tolerate this childish bickering in my presence, nor will I stand for this paternal blindness to my own abilities. And someone," she turned to face Thassarian who, had he not already been dead and bloodless, would have instantly blanched at the look she gave him, " _someone get me Darion Mograine. Now._ "


	5. Three-Edged Sword

_"There's three sides to every story: yours, mine, and the truth."_

or:

_"Understanding is a three-edged sword."_

* * *

 

The men each looked as though they would like to argue, but through some unspoken consensus decided it was safer to do as Jaina said. She waited until they were down the hall before she stormed out of the chamber, almost colliding with Kazimir Frostblood, kneeling in the doorway. She brushed past the skeletal mage and strode deeper into the Citadel without a clue where she was going.  _Away! Somewhere to be alone so I can think! They tried to kill me. They actually tried to kill me!_

Eventually she ended up outside on a low rampart that sloped down to meet the glacier. Winded from her dramatic departure and warmed by her fury, Jaina sat down, chin in her hands. She stared out at the night-time tundra. There were a series of torches set at regular intervals along the rampart and they made puddles of perfect light surrounded by solid darkness. The ice almost glowed under them and if she let her eyes unfocus just slightly, the landscape lost all depth, simultaneously claustrophobic and immeasurably vast. For several minutes, Jaina simply took in the subtle gradations of light and shadow on the ice. There were colours present in the hills and hollows that she had never noticed, soft violets and blues, and tiny sparkles of amber and pink where the torchlight caught the crystalline structure of a single snowflake.

A low whine issued from behind her and Jaina turned to find Dreilide hunkered down with his jaw on his crossed paws, looking up with mournful red eyes. She patted the stone beside her and the plague hound slithered forward on his belly.

"I'm not mad at you," she told the animal gently. "You behaved like a normal dog. How is it that you're a twisted abomination made from black magic, and you're more predictable than three sentient beings?" She regarded the hound thoughtfully. He- or so she had decided since none of the plague hounds had any outward indication of gender- was breathtakingly ugly. His lips didn't fit over his exaggerated teeth. His eyes were sunken, but lidless and bloodshot. His fur was greasy and coarse.

"I never really understood that whole 'so ugly it's cute' idea before, but I think I'm getting it now," she told Dreilide, who thumped his tail. She sighed. "I can't believe I yelled at Tirion. The poor man. All he's ever done is try to help... Maybe he deserves an apology. Does he?" She checked with the hound. "I don't know either. He means well but... And I always meant well too, but... It's different when you're on the... The other side. I need to control the Scourge, but I  _won't_  compromise my own integrity. You listen to me and you're obviously happy I'm kind to you. Kazimir Frostblood listens to me, maybe a little too closely, but he still responds without having to fear me." Jaina sat up. "Darion Mograine was right about one thing," she said, "I need people I can trust. Not just trust, but that can trust  _me_. I haven't done anything to inspire trust." She drummed her fingers against the stone, thinking of Anu'Shukhet and her empire of refugees. In Theramore, she had ruled partly due to blood and partly due to brains.  _A hero of the Alliance_.  _Does the Scourge have heroes? Or just people they're more afraid of than others?_

Something brushed her cheek and Jaina blinked, startled, then looked up into the night sky. It was snowing. The rampart was in the lee of the Citadel, and the flakes floated slowly down, wobbling on their axes, free from the driving havoc of the wind. One landed on her knee, instantly lost in the pale lavender fabric. She turned to watch another, then another, settle on her shoulder where the darker purple satin provided a contrast. Up close, they were different sizes; one a solid, hexagonal disc, pierced with perfect, tiny holes, the other a fragile web. Still another tumbled onto the fabric. This one was broken in half. Another, and it was like a gear wheel, toothed and symmetrical. Jaina watched them, mesmerized, wondering how she had spent months surrounded by snow, hating it, and never truly seeing it.

She turned over her hands, watching a light dusting of cold flakes drift onto her lap.

"They're all parts of a whole," she exclaimed to herself, and suddenly she had an idea. It was a massive idea, but it was so simple.  _I could explain it in three words._  It was a ludicrous idea too, and as she contemplated it, she was filled with the doubts that others would voice.  _Laughable. Preposterous. Impossible. Insane. Not feasible. Idealistic. Stop it, Jaina!_

"My King." Jaina jerked around, looking up to find Kazimir approaching her slowly. He was holding the black cloak, the thick folds and bulky fur trim spilling over his bony arms. "I thought you might be cold." He offered the garment. Jaina realized she was shivering. She stood and accepted the cloak, pulling it close around her bare arms.

"Thank you," she said, "I don't know what I was thinking…" Wordlessly, the mage held out her gloves too. She pulled them on and looked out across the tundra again. "Well, no, I wasn't thinking at all. I'm glad you were."

"It's far too cold out here for the living, my King."

"Too cold for me, at least," she murmured, distracted by the formless promise of her mad idea. "The Taunka don't seem to mind it, or the Tuskarr…" She clutched the cloak closed at her throat. She had details to hammer out and since her night was already irreparably disturbed, she might as well concentrate on them now.  _But not on an empty stomach. And not before I have those three assassins under lock and key!_

"We should see about the Death Knights." She turned and Kazimir followed a half-step behind.

As they re-entered the Citadel, Jaina was surprised to find Imuruk waiting for them. He was radiating anxiety, gaze jumping back and forth between herself and Kazimir. When the Nerubian moved she saw he was limping.

"Are you safe, Lady King?" he asked immediately.

"Yes, I'm fine. Are you hurt?" The little Seer glanced behind himself and lifted one hind leg off the floor.

"Me? Not really, no," he answered. "It will heal."

Jaina wondered if he was being entirely truthful, "I have a favour to ask you, then. I want to speak to Anu'Shukhet about… an alliance. Will you deliver that message for me?"

Imuruk dipped into a shallow bow. "I certainly will," he said, "Lady King, a decision of that magnitude likely will require not only Anu'Shukhet, but the entire ruling council. I will tell her, and she will tell them, but you may not get an answer for some time."

"That's quite acceptable. Thank you," she said and he scuttled off, definitely limping. She turned to Kazimir. "I need to find a suitable prison for my would-be assassins."

In the end, the best they could do was lock the trio in a windowless storage room near Jaina's chamber. Jaina left two restorative draughts inside the door, as well as a pitcher of water. Strangleheart was conscious, though too groggy to speak, and bared her teeth at Jaina weakly. Xochi and Starkweather lay motionless beside each other on the cold floor. Jaina couldn't tell if Xochi was awake or not, but either way no health potion was going to restore his spine. He would need a priest for that, and at the moment she did not feel charitable enough to get him one. She left without speaking, forcing her mind off the traitors and onto brighter prospects, namely food.

The kitchen that Kazimir had introduced her to was in a sub-basement at the end of a long hallway. The undead generally regarded the needs of the living as disgusting, superfluous, and wasteful, and wanted nothing to do with them. As a result, the kitchen was not lavishly appointed or well-stocked, but it existed and that was all Jaina needed. After coaxing some of Anu'Shukhet's workers to remove the rubble from the entrance, she had assessed the contents and found, to her surprise and delight, that nothing was poisoned. She also found that she desperately needed to establish a trading relationship with someone who could provide fresh fruit.

"Tea, hard biscuits and dried fish it is then," she muttered to herself, before realizing she had an entourage. Kazimir, Imuruk and the plague hound had all caught up with her. Two out of three of them looked hungry.

"Er- help yourself," said Jaina to the Seer, vaguely embarrassed to be caught talking to herself. "I'll find Dreilide something." She stepped toward the larder only to find her way neatly blocked by Imuruk.

"You needn't do that," he said, shooing her back toward the long table at the center of the kitchen. "My King hunts for us when she pleases. She doesn't cook for us. It's not her place and frankly, she's terrible at it. It isn't your place either. Please sit down." He turned away and Jaina tossed a look of helpless confusion to Kazimir, who shrugged.

"I can-" began the mage, but Jaina quickly cut him off.

"Uh uh. You're dead. I don't want you touching my food."

Kazimir pointed to Dreilide. "I was going to offer to feed  _that_. _"_

"Oh. Well, I suppose."

So Jaina sat on a bench and watched, amused by the surreality of the situation, while the two men explored the kitchen. Kazimir didn't seem to have any better idea where to find things than Imuruk did, though his task was considerably more simple. He approached Jaina carrying a steel bowl. Dreilide's leathery ears perked up.

"Don't let it get too spoiled," he said grudgingly, setting the bowl in front of the ravenous plague hound and stepping back with apparent distaste.

"But he's so skinny," said Jaina, running her hand over the hound's ribs.

"They're supposed to be lean," replied the mage.

"They taste better when they've got a little meat on them, though," commented Imuruk, peering into a cupboard. Jaina winced.

"Imuruk, you do know what humans eat, right?" said Kazimir over his shoulder, and Jaina worried what the answer might be. The Seer turned, holding a wooden bowl in one hand.

"I spent the greater part of my life among people who were not my own," he said. "It turns out most species like the same things, with a few exceptions."

"You're not from Anu'Shukhet's kingdom, then?" Jaina asked, curious.

"I am now," he replied. Kazimir, apparently tired of standing, sat down carefully on the other end of the bench.

"Imuruk is from Azjol'Nerub," said the mage.

"Kazimir is correct, but I think this conversation is suffering a slight miscommunication," said the Seer. Jaina was momentarily preoccupied watching him gesticulate with one set of hands while he struck a match for the stove with the other pair. "Azjol'Nerub refers to the  _entire_  Nerubian Kingdom, from top to bottom, sea to sea. It was broken up into two smaller sections, and those were further separated into what you might call 'provinces' to make government easier. Anub'Arak was our King, in the sense that humans use the word- a male ruler of the highest authority. Now, Anu'Shukhet came from a province called Anu'Hazad; I came from the central one simply called Azjol'Nerub, which you might call a city-state. In that sense, Anu'Shukhet and I are both from the same kingdom, much as you are both from Lordaeron."

"Actually, I'm from Kul Tiras," said Jaina, then turned to Kazimir. "You're from Lordaeron? Wait. How-" she looked from the mage to the Seer, "-how do you two know each other?"

The men both assumed distinctly awkward body language.

"Tirion Fordring asked for someone to guard me at night," said Kazimir finally, "And Anu'Shukhet gave him Imuruk. We've had some time to talk."

"He did  _what_?" said Jaina, "After I told him guarding you was unnecessary?"

Kazimir and Imuruk both nodded. Jaina stared fixedly at Dreilide, licking his bowl, and fumed.

"Well, he won't interfere in your affairs anymore," said Imuruk.

"No, I suppose not," sighed Jaina. She chewed her lip, brooding, then took a deep breath and sat up, turning to Kazimir. "So, you're from Lordaeron?"

"From Stratholme," said the mage. "I left before-" he made a vague motion with one hand that described nothing in particular, but encompassed years of memories for Jaina, "-and ended up at the Scholomance." Jaina waited for him to continue.

"And?" she prompted.

"And I was deemed worthy and given the gift of undeath, my King," he said, sounding uncertain.

"I guessed that. What did you do while you were alive? I know it isn't important to you, but it is to me. I need to understand why someone would  _choose_  to be undead."

Kazimir picked at the flaking leather of his belt, fleshless fingers ticking against the metal buckle. "I worked for an alchemist," he said, "She was a competent mage, and I wanted her to teach me magic, but she wasn't interested in competition. I heard rumours of a secret group that would train mages, a group that wasn't associated with Dalaran. I sought them out. Their leader didn't care that I had no previous training, only that I had talent and that I was willing to leave my employer. He told me I had promise. And he told me he could make me immortal."

The mage leaned forward, elbows on his knees, staring at nothing, lost in his recollection.

"I was more interested in mage training than immortality, honestly. Who wants to be immortal? What's the point? That was what I thought at first. So I sold my things and quit my job and followed the Cult of the Damned to the Scholomance. It was… frightening and exciting. I saw things that I didn't like, that I didn't understand, but I came to realize why things were done the way they were done after a while. I had no distractions and our masters were very serious: we worked hard, and yes, on pain of death. It was excel or die, but excellence has many measures. One of my colleagues was a high elven woman. She was terrible with fire and purely arcane disciplines, but discovered she had immense talent with shadow magic."

"Do you know what happened to her?" asked Jaina.

"Yes, actually. She worked tirelessly within the Cult, recruiting and training new members. She had quite a loyal following. Our masters noticed she had a gift for speech as well as shadow magic, and she was promoted repeatedly. Eventually she not only earned the gift of undeath, but of lich-dom, and took the name Lady Deathwhisper."

Jaina's eyes widened. "You knew her? In life?"

"Not well. We were diligent students, but I did admire her."

"And you took your name when you… were resurrected?"

"Yes."

"Don't ask him what it was before," interjected Imuruk, "it's considered impolite."

"I won't," she said, but she secretly wanted to know. She wanted to know how the man died; whether he took his own life as some of the prominent Cult members were rumoured to have done, or whether they ritually murdered him. It was morbid, and disturbing, but it was part of this man as much as his intelligence and devotion.

"Ras Frostwhisper slew me himself when I was deemed ready," he said then and Jaina swallowed.  _Did I… ask him to tell me that? Or was it just coincidence?_  Kazimir seemed proud of this fact. "He brought me into undeath, and I took part of his name for that honour," the mage said wistfully, then shook himself. "I don't regret any of it."

Jaina pondered him for a moment, and found she was angry. "Doesn't it bother you at all that the Cult was responsible for so much suffering and sadness? You killed people who didn't  _want_  to die. You destroyed families, you killed children!"

Kazimir was quiet for a long time, eyes downcast, submission in every angle of his body. "No," he finally said, "it didn't bother me. They were in the way, inconsequential."

"They were people!"

"How many of these people have you talked to, my King? They are common peasants, willfully ignorant, fearful, stupid, selfish, petty-"

"It doesn't mean you can just  _kill_  them," she gasped, revolted by his callousness.

"They were just as productive being zombies as they were alive," he snorted and turned away from her. Jaina felt despair well up alongside her revulsion.  _I cannot understand someone so thoroughly apathetic and heartless! If this is what he believes, I would rather lock him up than listen to him._  "What does it matter how they died? Twenty years ago they might have been slaughtered by the Orcish Horde and their heads mounted on iron fences. If the Burning Legion hadn't been repelled, they might have lived in eternal torment as the toy of some demon."

Jaina slowly stroked the plague hound's rounded head. "So, we're born to die, then? You think by setting the time and means, by forsaking your flesh, your senses, you think this makes you stronger and better?"

"Yes," said Kazimir, "stronger and smarter. The sacrifices I've made  _are_  sacrifices- I miss the taste of tea- but they were worth it for what I've gained."  _So he is human after all. Sort of._

Silence fell, save for the sound of Imuruk preparing Jaina knew-not-what. She tried to focus on the peculiar coziness of the situation again but it was no longer so cozy, and she kept falling back on her disappointment in Kazimir.  _What did I expect him to be like, really? To find some chivalrous, tormented hero in those rags and bones? No. The Scourge are nihilists and sadists and murderers and misanthropes. I was foolish to expect anything different._

"Lady King," said Imuruk, startling Jaina out of her sinking hopes. He set a plate before her, adding a fork and then paused. "It seems there are no knives, so I will let you use this." He drew a short-bladed dagger from one wrist-sheath and placed it beside the plate. Jaina barely noticed.

"Wow," she said. She had spied an ice chest but dared not look in it before. Imuruk had and he had discovered a cold side of something she dearly hoped was chicken or pheasant. He had also found soft cheese and spices and bread. Jaina looked up, smiling. "This is fantastic. Can I keep you?" The Seer clasped his hands together in abject joy.

"You're welcome," he chirped and went back to the counter to retrieve his own food. Jaina picked up the Nerubian's dagger and turned it back and forth. The handle was three-quarters of the weapon's total length, with a crosspiece in the shape of open wings closer to the pommel than the blade. It was definitely strange. Then she turned it over.

"I know this symbol," she said. It was simple: an open circle bisected by a vertical line, but Jaina knew she had seen it before. She heard Imuruk approach and held up the blade. "This is an archaic chemical symbol for elemental nitrogen." Imuruk lowered himself into an awkward crouch, resting his haunches on the bench. "And an ancient symbol for fire. You're not a Seer," she said suddenly, "you're a shaman!"

Imuruk looked at Kazimir. "And you told me it was 'highly improbable'."

"Well, it is."

"I don't really know anything about your people," mused Jaina. "To me, everything is probable. But these wings… it looks Tauren. How did you come to carry Tauren symbols?"

"My teacher was Tauren," he said simply. "I was exiled from Azjol'Nerub when I was very young, and I ended up above ground. I was terrified. Fortunately, a wonderful woman named Earthsinger was studying the glacier. She found me in a crevasse."

"When you said you spent most of your life away from your people, I thought you meant as an ambassador, or a scholar."

"I was a bit of both, I think."

"Kazimir, did you know this?" she said, turning to the mage, her dislike of him momentarily forgotten.

"Yes," he replied, "the accent gave him away."

"I suppose he does have a bit of one. Keen observation," she said, albeit grudgingly. "Imuruk, if you don't mind my asking, why were you exiled?"

"I don't mind. It's very simple. Our culture centers on physical castes and the roles they play in society. You thought Anu'Shukhet was male- ah, no use hiding it, I can tell- because your culture associates physical power with masculinity. We associate physical power with the Spiderlords; gender doesn't matter. Likewise, you thought I was a Seer because of how I look. So did my teachers. And they couldn't figure out why I couldn't use magic. I was broken. I was useless. So I was exiled. It was that or death, and exile means the surface, which is similar to death. But I  _am_  a magic-user, just not the sort they expected."

"That makes sense, I suppose. The part about physical castes at least, not the exile," she said, chewing thoughtfully. She looked down at her food. "Tauren taught you to cook?" Imuruk nodded.

"Be thankful she wasn't a Troll," said Kazimir, and Jaina smirked despite herself. They ate quietly for a few moments, Jaina stealing glances at Imuruk. He didn't use any utensils but managed somehow to look polite eating with his hands. Polite for an unnervingly large insect, at least.

The plague hound inched up beside her and looked from her plate, to her. Jaina shook her head. "No. You're not begging off the table. Go lie down." Dreilide slouched dejectedly along the bench, stopping beside Imuruk.

"Lady King said no," chastised the shaman, and Dreilide slunk over to Kazimir. The mage tried to ignore him until the hound nosed his arm. Kazimir glared down at the dog and pointed to the corner of the room.

" _Go,_ " he said, leaving no room for argument, and Dreilide went. Jaina covered her mouth with one hand and giggled.

"You must have had a dog in life," she smiled.

Kazimir straightened his mantle self-consciously. "I'm more of a cat person, really," he muttered. Jaina was about to make a reply when the door opened and a large, heavily-armoured Draenei poked his head into the kitchen.

"Lady," he said, and gave a little bow, "Anu'Shukhet sent me to find you. She and her council are willing to meet with you."

"Oh, certainly, yes," she said, getting quickly to her feet, and without any other option, hastily wiped her mouth on a corner of her cloak.

"Oh no, no! Not now. Tomorrow morning. I'm sorry, Lady Proudmoore," he said, distinctly apologetic, "She will meet you in the Oratory tomorrow morning."

"Thank you." Jaina resumed her seat, then before he could depart, added, "Would you happen to know a healer, one capable of mending a Death Knight's spine?" The Draenei chuckled and tapped his steel breastplate.

"I know  _many_  healers," he said ruefully, "but I do have a couple of friends who come with the highest recommendations."

"It's terribly late now," Jaina continued, "but tomorrow morning, after I meet with the Nerubian council, would you send one of them to me? I will pay fairly for their service."

"Certainly, Lady Proudmoore. Have a good, uh, productive- thing- meeting," he finished and bowed. As he walked off, Jaina saw him shake his head and rub one hand over his face, muttering, "Good job, Beln. You sounded like a drooling idiot." Jaina covered a smile.  _Adventurers._  The smile turned into a yawn and she blinked rapidly. The rush of emotion from her thwarted assassination attempt was wearing off, leaving her mentally exhausted. She tallied the distance back to her chamber and lamented the total.

"Thank you, Imuruk, for the delicious food," she said, getting slowly to her feet.  _I wonder if I can semi-permanently borrow him from Anu'Shukhet? Probably not if this is part of his job description._

"My pleasure," he replied happily. Jaina fought another yawn and narrowly avoided tripping over the doorframe on her way out. She sighed. Wordlessly, Kazimir appeared beside her and offered his elbow. She paused, then gripped it before thinking and had to squash the urge to recoil as her hands closed around cold bone. They were both silent for most of the trip.

"I apologize if my words earlier offended you," he said finally as they ascended the staircase to the next level.

"What do you-? Oh. About your part in the Scourge. No, I… you can't apologize for that, Kazimir. It's what you are and what I needed to know. Needed to hear." She shook her head. "There's no one at fault for the truth."

He opened the door to her room and stood aside to let her enter. "I will remain here, if you wish." Jaina paused, looking around. The only sign there had been a frantic altercation mere hours before was a chair lying on its side, but she still remembered turning to find men with swords drawn invading her new sanctuary.

"No, thank you, Kazimir. I will be fine alone," she assured him. She entered and closed the door behind her with a heavy click. Without the ghostly blue light of the torches in the hall, her chamber was a mosaic of indistinct shadows, but Jaina had already learned where shin-height objects were so she could avoid them as she searched for a candle and matches. After a moment, she lit a single taper and blinked at the sudden brilliance of the tiny flame.  _I must really need sleep. First snowflakes, now a candle. It can't be a good sign when every second inanimate object takes on deep metaphorical significance._

She set the candle on the crate that served as a bedside table and draped the heavy black cloak over the foot of the bed. Her fingers stumbled over the buttons and ties of her clothing until she left a puddle of violet runecloth around her ankles, and in the cool darkness of her chamber, the warmth of that single flame was tangible, faint and welcome, on her bare skin. Jaina found her night-dress where she had folded it that morning and slipped the long cotton garment over her head.

With a sigh, she burrowed under the blankets and closed her eyes. Despite her exhaustion, she found sleep did not come immediately. Instead, she lay awake as her mind wandered.

Jaina had always been fine alone. Growing up on Kul Tiras, her father had been occupied with his military and political obligations, and her brothers had not shared her interest in books and magic. Her aristocratic mother was baffled by a girl who loved nothing more than reading complex metaphysical discussions. Jaina hadn't really minded solitude, happy to pursue whatever she chose without obstruction, until she had been accepted to Dalaran for mage training. The young Prince of Lordaeron had accompanied her on the journey south to the glittering magic city, and Jaina had found a companion that both intrigued her and understood her.

It might have seemed unlikely that a boy destined to become a paladin would have anything in common with a future mage, but her friendship with Arthas had less to do with their differences, and everything to do with their similarities. As children and young adults, both of them had an admirable stubborn streak. Both of them were curious, and compassionate. And both of them weren't above a little disobedience, dirt, and adventure.

Jaina sighed and rolled over to face the wall. Perhaps they had simply been destined for each other from the beginning. Jaina's pragmatism doubted that; she had never made much of an effort to go out and mingle, at home in Kul Tiras, or in Dalaran, so the pool of potential friends and lovers was quite small. Perhaps if she had showed her face outside the walls of Dalaran more frequently she might have found someone else.

But the truth was… she had never wanted to.

Even as his desperation to stop the undead plague had consumed him and turned to madness, fire, and violence; even as she listened in stunned revulsion as Sylvanas had recounted his horrific march upon Quel'Thalas; even as she had faced him, finally,  _finally_ , in the Halls of Reflection, Jaina had held onto a tenuous, fantastic hope that somewhere deep inside, he still loved her as she loved him. If he had, she would never know.

And now she was alone, again, and she was fine, really, but oh…

"Hello, my love." His voice was half radiant, youthful Arthas, and half cruel, frost-raked Lich King. She rolled over, heart pounding, to find herself nose to nose with her dead lover. The glowing paladin part of him smiled at her, eyes sparkling, delighted at her surprise. Jaina sucked in a shocked gasp.

"I'm dreaming," she murmured. Arthas propped himself up on one elbow.

"If you're dreaming, why not make it a good dream?"

Jaina narrowed her eyes. "I need to rest," she protested. "Besides, every other dream that started out like this inevitably turned into you waving that cursed sword at me and babbling unspeakable garbage. So basically, every other dream echoed reality." Jaina frowned at him.

"Well, I don't have Frostmourne with me." He lifted the covers and peered beneath. "Nope. Must've left it somewhere. Maybe I listened to Muradin and left it in that damned cave. Maybe it's upstairs at the foot of the Frozen Throne in pieces. Hey, you're naked."

Jaina crossed her arms over her chest, abruptly realizing they were  _both_  naked, and glared. "Go away. I don't like it when this happens."

"When what happens?"

"When I dream about you, idiot!"

Arthas leaned forward and brushed her hair back from her face. "What if you aren't dreaming this time, Jaina?" Where his knuckles grazed her cheek, her skin flushed with tingling heat.

"What do you mean?"

"We never had a chance to say good-bye. Icecrown Citadel is full of spirits. One of them is mine."

Jaina stared into his earnest blue eyes and saw nothing evil there. She wanted to believe him. She wanted a chance to remind herself that once there had been an Arthas Menethil who she had loved. He leaned forward and kissed her softly on the lips. Jaina hesitated, but his lips met hers imperfectly and it was just as sweet and honest and inelegant as it had ever been. Jaina closed her eyes and sultry memories overwhelmed all sense. She opened her mouth. He tasted strongly of coffee, acrid and familiar. The kiss deepened and Arthas subtly shifted her onto her back, steady hands caressing her cheeks, tangling in her loose hair.

"Light, Arthas, how I miss you!" she gasped when they parted, fighting back tears, and wrapped her arms around his broad shoulders.

"Then let yourself remember me," he murmured, trailing kisses up her jaw to her ear. This set her giggling and him grinning. Jaina pushed against his chest playfully and he ceased obligingly, nibbling down her neck instead. As his kisses moved lower and grew more focused, more sensual, Jaina found what she cared about most was his warmth. His skin radiated blessed heat. He mouthed her breast softly, lips and tongue enveloping her nipple and the most erotic thing about it was the temperature. He was warm, he was alive! When he wriggled down her body, brushing fever-hot lips against her shivering stomach, she pulled his hands back up to cup her breasts, sealing the warmth against his calloused palms.

His kisses stopped when his chin bumped the crest of her pubic bone. Jaina opened her eyes and looked down the length of her body, breath catching in her throat. Arthas gazed back, whole and sane.

"Do you remember?" he asked lazily, even as he lowered his mouth between her legs.

"I don't ever want to forget." Jaina squeezed her eyes shut against tears of heartbreak and euphoria. Her voice hitched at the first insistent touches of his tongue. Arthas had never been one to tease. He growled with satisfaction at her response, and settled himself, licking in slow, broad strokes. Both hands slid down her body, dragging hot ribbons of sensation, and it seemed wherever he gripped her, and stroked her, he left glorious warmth. The blankets were too much; she threw them aside and took a deep shuddering breath, opening her eyes to focus on the golden blonde head working between her legs, dampening the bedclothes with long-lost lust.

He kneaded her ass with one hand, fingers sinking into the relaxed muscles, provoking tension, heightening the growing pleasure of his mouth on her. Jaina made a breathy moan. With one trembling hand, she found his head, tightening her fingers in his tousled blond hair.

"Never leave me again," she ordered firmly. The Prince grunted an affirmative and slid his tongue into her, eliciting a feathery whine. She felt their combined wetness slither down her burning skin, and silently begged him to enter her. Jaina had never been able to push aside her sense of modesty enough to actually ask aloud for what she wanted during sex. Arthas started out confused, but swiftly learned to just do whatever turned her into a writhing, hissing creature of pure carnal instinct.

Years of practice had made him quite good at it. Jaina's breath came in wanton gasps. Arthas moaned into her and withdrew his tongue, only to plunge it back in when she groaned in disappointment. He groped the tendon on the inside of her thigh, massaging it in time with his thrusting mouth until Jaina was rolling her hips against him, hand clenched in his hair, lost in pure aching sensation. He drew back, licking his lips, and pushed two fingers inside of her, moving them out before she could adjust and then easing them back in slowly. He twisted his hand and Jaina arched her back, bearing down against the intrusion in bliss. Then his mouth was on her again, hot and desperate, sopping wet. The ache surged aflame and Jaina rocked against him, wrapping one leg over his back, heel grinding into his ribs as he pumped his fingers inside of her, withdrew, entered, curled his fingertips.

Jaina choked out a garbled plea and was suddenly overtaken by the flood of sensation- his soft lips and burning tongue, the clever fingers moving within her, the breadth of his shoulders shoving her thighs apart. "I can't-!" she quavered, delirious with pleasure.

"Sure you can," he chuckled, leering at her as he came up for air. He licked up and down the whole wet length of her and then his tongue was inside, curled the opposite direction of his fingers, reaching harder, deeper.

"I want you," she panted, and reached down, hastily guiding him. She bit her lip and heard him gasp as he pressed into her. "I've always wanted you, just you," she murmured as they came together, slowly, carefully. Arthas had always been gentle with her. He gathered her against his chest with one powerful hand, nose buried in her hair.

"I love you," he breathed, voice thick with passion. He sat up, pulling her with him so she was straddling his lap. She grabbed onto his shoulder, his hands clutching her hips, and as she began to move she knew her thighs were going to be sore the next day. Jaina hadn't had a work-out like this in some time. The thought made her grin to herself, and she rode him with determined fervor. Arthas matched her pace easily.

Jaina tried to stifle a cry, leaning over to bury her face against Arthas' neck. The change in position stole her breath and she arched back, eyes clenched shut as her body tensed and convulsed and rocked and light exploded outside her vision, obliterating coherent thought. She was vaguely aware of Arthas still holding her, murmuring to her, then pressing her down on her back again as he finished with a ragged cry. They lay together for a long time, regaining their breath. Finally, Jaina shifted onto her side and smiled at the still-breathless Prince.

"So, I've decided I don't really care if you're a dream, or a spirit."

"I can be pretty convincing, can't I?"

"Pretty  _and_  convincing," she teased and kissed his nose.

* * *

Imuruk was still in the kitchen, cleaning up, when Kel'Thuzad returned. The disguised lich could have gone anywhere he pleased, but as there was nowhere he immediately needed to be, he settled at the dining table and mused on his King's vague talk of alliances. Imuruk acknowledged him with a nod and resumed humming.

"My understanding of your people was that none of you much cared for what went on above ground. What are Lady Jaina's odds of forging some sort of treaty with Anu'Shukhet's kingdom?" Kel'Thuzad had rather enjoyed his undead Nerubian colleagues; they were efficient, strong, and mostly taciturn. It didn't hurt that they were also huge, scary-looking, and obeyed him implicitly. He felt a fleeting sense of pride that he had been able to meet and learn about their species as much as he had. Precious few ever had the opportunity.

Imuruk cocked his head, washing dishes. "I'm not a good person to ask. I don't mind surface dwellers. Anu'Shukhet…" He paused. "Well, she was one of the younger generation who believed there should have been more contact with other species. I agree with her. Whether the council does, I don't know."

Kel'Thuzad folded his hands on the tabletop. "So you  _aren't_  part of the council."

"That's not exactly a secret. I would have told you, if you ask-" Kel'Thuzad abruptly interrupted the shaman's rejoinder by straightening up so fast he bashed his knee against the underside of the table. "What just happened?"

"Nothing," replied the lich quickly, shakily retaking his seat. He made a noise that sounded like a strangled cough, although he didn't posses lungs or the need to breathe. Imuruk cocked his head, baffled. Kel'Thuzad flicked his gaze from the shaman, to the tabletop, to the roof and remained staring intently at the ceiling for a long moment.

"Are you okay?"

"Yes," snapped the lich. He pressed his hands flat to the tabletop and then suddenly his fingers arched, tips digging into the wood. He turned a blazing eye on the shaman, and growled through teeth clamped shut so hard they squeaked: "In case I ever succeed in making myself  _forget_ , remind me that the very first thing Jaina needs to learn is to _shield her bloody telepathy_."

* * *

Jaina was in a very good mood the next morning, which contrasted sharply with Kazimir's. She found him outside the kitchen, staring at the floor.

"My King," he said, "may I have a moment of your time?"

"Yes, Kazimir. What is it?"

"You may or may not be aware that you have some telepathic abilities. Some of the Scourge can hear you better than others. I can hear you. It's a useful tool for ordering your troops into position, or maintaining discipline."

"Yes, I did know," she said, slightly perplexed by his chosen topic. "I had some contact with one about six weeks ago who could talk to me through this link. I can hear you a little, but I didn't know you could hear me."

The mage shuffled his feet, looking everywhere but at her. "Normally I wouldn't be able to, but you evidently don't know how to shield yourself. And last night, you were… broadcasting."

It took Jaina a moment to understand what Kazimir was saying. When she did get it, she blushed crimson and clapped a hand over her mouth. "Oh, my  _gods_." She turned away and covered her face with both hands. "I had no idea. I'm so embarrassed."

"I gathered that. For the sake of my sanity and others, please, will you learn to keep your private thoughts  _private_?" he begged. Jaina took a deep breath and faced him.

"Yes. I don't know how, but yes. I'll- I'll figure it out. Gods. I'm sorry."

"Well, it wasn't completely unpleasant, but I'm sure you would rather not have an audience."

"No! I would  _not_. Oh Light." She sighed and turned back but couldn't meet his eyes. "Um, was that all?"

"Yes, my King." He bowed, considerably more relaxed than he had been. Jaina paused.

"Kazimir?"

"Yes?"

"Thank you. I… yes. Thank you," she said and smiled weakly, then scooted past him into the kitchen to find herself some breakfast, still red with embarrassment.  _He didn't have to say anything. He could have kept silent and- and oh gods I wonder how many people- undead- whatever- heard... that?_ Imuruk was not in evidence, so Jaina fixed herself cold cheese and meat, with a heel of hard bread. She was almost finished, and contemplating the downside to telepathy, when the Draenei from the day before leaned around the doorway.

"Lady Jaina? Anu'Shukhet is waiting for you in the Oratory," he said. "Oh, and I found you a priestess, but she won't be awake for another couple of hours. Claims she doesn't see the point of getting up before the sun." Jaina could sympathize. They were approaching the solstice, the shortest, darkest day of the year, and already there were less than six hours of real daylight available.

"Thank you," she said, and finished hurriedly, hastily stowing her telepathic concerns for later. The warrior stood at attention while she finished eating, broad shoulders filling the narrow doorway with an expanse of scarred and pitted metal. He had a still-healing gash that sliced diagonally down between his eyes, and across the bridge of his nose. Part of his horns had been hacked off and the remains capped with steel. Despite his obvious veteran experience, he looked around with open curiosity.

When she was done, they made for the hole in the Oratory floor. Jaina tried to prepare a speech in her head, but she had little idea what sort of angle to ply with the Nerubians. They did need help from above ground, but if she offered it too willingly, too sympathetically, she might offend their pride. If she held back, they might find her untrustworthy. She knew so little about them. Perhaps it was best, first, to listen.

The Draenei escorted her across the floor and stopped several meters shy of the tunnel. Anu'Shukhet sat in the entrance. Jaina nodded her thanks to the warrior, and turned to the Spiderlord.

"I'm not sure how to frame my offer," Jaina said earnestly, peering into the dark tunnel visible around Anu'Shukhet's flank. "And I'm nervous. How does this work?"

"Usually they let the guest speak for a few minutes, then argue for a few hours. It would be impolite for you to interrupt, or leave, but since I'm still technically your prisoner, that might give you some leverage," replied the Spiderlord. She pivoted on the spot, moving to let Jaina join her. The mouth of the tunnel was a jumble of broken rock mixed with chunks of ice. It was slippery and precipitous and unlit, and Jaina balked.

"I- perhaps I should get a torch."

"It's a fair way underground," said Anu'Shukhet, and abruptly settled onto her belly, forelegs stretched out before her like a dog. "Tell anyone I let you do this, and I'll make sure your remains are never found." Jaina paused, looking up at the Spiderlord.

"Do what?" she asked. Anu'Shukhet fluttered her upper set of wings impatiently.

"Just get on."

"Oh," said Jaina, and hesitantly put a hand on the Nerubian's side. Her carapace was not as cold as Jaina expected. She jumped, scrambling gracelessly across Anu'Shukhet's back. Jaina knelt awkwardly and tried to find a handhold on the vertical wall of chitin armour before her.

"This is highly unorthodox, and probably breaking some kind of custom."

"I won't say anything if you won't. I feel a bit foolish," said Jaina, not sure where it was safe to put her hands. The plates of Anu'Shukhet's armour shifted smoothly over each other, giving the Nerubian a surprising amount of flexibility while protecting her, but that same seamless exoskeleton made her a dangerous, uncomfortable mount. Jaina ended up curling her hands into fists, knuckles pressed against Anu'Shukhet's back lest her fingers be caught between plates.

"Are you there? I can't feel you at all."

"Yes, I'm- I think I'm ready."

The Spiderlord moved headfirst down the tunnel and Jaina swallowed a yelp at the abrupt angle formed by Anu'Shukhet's torso and abdomen. Jaina spread her hands against the armour to balance herself and after a few more moments adjusting to the Nerubian's pace, she carefully turned around, putting her back against Anu'Shukhet's, feet splayed to either side for support. The grade of the tunnel increased and Jaina found herself cradled between the two major segments of the Spiderlord's body. It was surprisingly comfortable.

"You still there?"

"Yes," said Jaina, "Thanks for this."

"There's a few on the council who would enjoy it if you slipped and died here. Personally, I'd like to hear your idea."

Jaina brushed a stray lock of hair out of her face. "I hope your people prove interested," she said. It was pitch dark in the tunnel now and Jaina's world shrank to the subtle heat of Anu'Shukhet's body, the smell of frozen soil, and the easy four-beat gait of the Spiderlord's progress. Jaina was pleased to discover the Nerubian didn't trot.

"You're going to meet resistance," the Spiderlord warned, "None of us can forget the power you carry, and the more conservative elements of the council still dislike surface dwellers."

"I didn't expect this to be simple," said Jaina. "Tell me about the council. Who are they?"

Anu'Shukhet made a hiss that Jaina interpreted as a sigh. "The council consists of four military leaders, four Seers, and eight regular workers and warriors. Between them, they account for the gaps in my knowledge, and keep me and my secretary updated on each of their specializations. They represent the interests of each facet of our society."

"That's very intelligent," said Jaina, and meant it. "Do they vote on your actions?"

"Vote? I'm not familiar with this word."

"Voting is... it's when each person gets to... hmmm... say 'yes' or 'no' to something and then you count how many of each and whichever choice has more, that's the course of action taken. We used it in Theramore for a lot of civilian ideas."

"No, we don't do this. My councilors tell me what they know, and we use each other's knowledge to find solutions. My word is final, but I won't decide until I have sufficient information, which is why I asked you to come before the council."

"How well does it work?" asked Jaina. Anu'Shukhet made a whirring sound while she considered the question.

"It works slowly," replied the Spiderlord, "on large issues such as this one. But it is for the best. I can't make decisions without knowing what my people want."  _How many times have I asked a guard, or a blacksmith, or a housewife what they wanted in Theramore?_  Jaina wondered. Her big decisions had always come down to safety: the safety of Theramore, of Kalimdor, of Azeroth. Everyone wanted that.

"Anu'Shukhet, how many Nerubians survived the Scourge? Do you know of any other groups like yours living in Northrend?"

"Yes. I don't know where they are. Imuruk said they were deep underground, but couldn't find out more than that."

"He only knows what the spirits of the land can tell him, right?"

Anu'Shukhet raised her wing covers briefly before remembering that Jaina was sitting on her back. The sorceress scrabbled for balance.

"Sorry. Yes. The spirits are always bothering him with information. He must be one of the only shamans who can hear our ancestors. I think it's made him a little crazy. From what he says, there is another large group of survivors somewhere underground, but the spirits seem more interested in us."

Jaina smiled fondly to herself. "I have a friend who's a shaman too. I often used to wonder how he kept up a normal conversation while listening to his ancestors. Maybe they only talk when it's important."

Anu'Shukhet paused briefly. Jaina felt the sweep of moving air and realized they had come to a junction in the tunnel.  _How much of Northrend have they tunneled under? And how many of those tunnels are structurally sound…?_

"I didn't think your people had shamans," said the Spiderlord.

"We don't. My friend is an Orc."

Anu'Shukhet buzzed in what sounded like surprise, then came to a halt. "You must walk from here," she said and lowered herself to the floor. It was still dark, though Jaina thought she could make out a dim light ahead of them. She slid carefully off the Spiderlord's back, then called up a tiny glowing orb in the palm of her hand and blinked as her eyes adjusted. The floor was still steeply angled, but solid rock. She tested her heels against it and found she had ample traction.

Jaina walked at Anu'Shukhet's shoulder into the ethereal glow, trying to not the gawk as the light grew and she found herself in an enormous cavern dotted with growths of blue-green phosphorescent lichen. Stalagmites towered twenty meters high, reaching towards the distant roof, stalactites growing down towards them like teeth in gigantic jaws. Several tunnels opened into the cavern, their entrances broadened into long mezzanines supported by thick pillars at regular intervals. Most of the columns still bore rough cut-marks, but a few had been embellished with interlocking geometrical patterns and scarab imagery.

"You've been living under the Citadel," whispered Jaina in awe. Anu'Shukhet rustled her upper pair of wings and peered around her shoulder at Jaina, nodding.

"It seemed like a wise location to hide and wait. Now, go stand in the center of the room and introduce yourself."

Jaina strode forward through the soft aqua light, not bothering to disguise her amazement at the surroundings, and stopped in the center of an intricately detailed circle engraved in the floor. She had seen shapes moving along the mezzanine levels, and now she brightened the light she held in the palm of her hand and raised it above her head.

There were far more than sixteen Nerubian councilors watching her.

"I am Jaina Proudmoore," she said, her voice steady and clear, "Once I ruled a city of living humans in Kalimdor. I came to Northrend to fight the Scourge and defend my people's way of life. I did this," she said emphatically, turning slowly to address the entire cavern, "and in the end, I was cursed to bear the demonic powers given to the Lich King. I have struggled to understand why this happened, but ultimately it does not matter. I have come before you now, at your will, to let you see who I am: a living human woman, a sorceress, and a leader." She paused, controlling her breathing even though her heartbeat was running wild, moving her gaze from one figure to the next.  _There's so many of them._ "While I made my way to your kingdom, I first tried to figure out how best to make an offer of alliance. Then, as I spoke to your King, Anu'Shkhet, I tried to fathom the strength necessary to watch your entire world destroyed, and keep on living."

There was a rash of hisses and murmurs, staccato clicks and burrs, from the gathering. Anu'Shukhet shook herself, wing-cases rattling, and the room quieted.

"My human comrades and I have pushed and fought and sacrificed to end this dynasty of despair. Our heroes are scarred. Our homes are missing families. We've lost children and parents and lovers. We've taught our noblest to be merciless and our innocents to be suspicious. And now that the fighting is over, we have to try to put all the living back together again." Jaina clenched her jaw and looked up into the highest reaches of the cavern.

"I can't change the past," she said with greater emotion than she meant to, as a memory of Arthas rose unbidden in her mind's eye, "and I can't change the future alone."


	6. Ich Will

**Chapter 6 –** _**Ich Will** _

_Ich will eure Stimmen hören/_ I want to hear your voices _  
Ich will die Ruhe stören/_ I want to disturb the peace __  
Ich will dass ihr mich gut seht/ I want you to see me well  
Ich will dass ihr mich versteht/ I want you to understand me

-Ich Will,  _Rammstein_

The room swelled with ticks, hisses and squeaks. Jaina stood at the center of the circle, arm raised, holding a globe of light and trying to keep it from shaking as she looked slowly from one Nerubian to the next. Somewhere, she had read that their native language was only half verbal, the other half illustrated with gestures and hand signs. The cavern was filled with animation.

Finally, one of the figures moved out from the shadow of the mezzanine and approached Anu'Shukhet. It was a worker, wearing a bright blue tunic that matched the Spiderlord's carapace. Another individual detached from the group, this one a Seer easily twice Imuruk's size.  _He would never fit in my kitchen_ , thought Jaina. She waited as the councilors separated themselves from their constituents and made a ring around their leader. Jaina remained in the circle inscribed on the stone floor, scrutinized by dozens of on-lookers.

"Lady King," said Anu'Shukhet at last, speaking over the heads of her advisors, and Jaina lowered her arm in relief, ignoring the tingle in her tired muscles. She joined the group, allowed a spot between a worker and another military commander who could have been Anu'Shukhet's twin but for it's bright ochre colouration.

Too many sets of eyes to count focused on her. Jaina bowed deeply to the Spiderlord.

"This is not a decision easily made," said one of the towering Seers, one set of hands clutching a metal staff.

"We do not know if we can forgive you," said a worker, coarse fur on its abdomen raised like the hackles of an angry dog.

"Or if we can trust you."

"What can your society do for us that we cannot do for ourselves?"

"It was foolish to allow you here!"

"We will consider your offer." This last came from a haggard-looking warrior across the circle from Jaina.

"Thank you," she said and bowed again.

Despite her being integral to the conversation, Jaina found herself completely ignored after about five minutes. The councilors reverted to their native tongue, wordlessly dismissing her. She stood politely, staring first at one, then another of the gathered Nerubians, who looked back with undisguised curiosity and some malice. It was easy to identify the council members' individual functions: the four military leaders shared Anu'Shukhet's form, though not her vivid sapphire colour; the four Seers were Imuruk magnified and whole; the workers and warriors were the smaller, low-slung form Jaina knew best as Crypt Fiends. She tried to figure out which were male and which were female and failed completely.

Two hours later, Jaina wanted to sit down, but she was legitimately concerned about being stepped on, and possibly falling asleep. She raised a hand to cover a yawn, fighting the urge to close her eyes for just a minute. Most of the curious civilians had departed the cavern. Jaina fleetingly envied their freedom.

It was at least another half hour before the discussion wound down. The circle of councilors turned one by one to Anu'Shukhet and finally, the Spiderlord faced to Jaina.

"We have decided not to officially ally ourselves with you, Lady King," said the Spiderlord, "not yet. There is too much your people don't know about us, and too much we don't know about  _you_ , specifically. However, we have agreed that it is beneficial to maintain a relationship with the surface, and with yourself, Lady King. We would also appreciate it if I was no longer formally declared your prisoner. Although it was a, ah, cosmetic imprisonment, it factored into our decision as we will never again be the unwilling army of the Lich King."

Jaina nodded, disappointment swallowed by reality. "I understand," she said, voice neutral. "I release you from your imprisonment, Anu'Shukhet. And I look forward to learning about your people," she added as gracefully as she could manage. "Thank you for hearing me."

"You speak well, Lady King," said one of the warriors.

"Thank you for appearing before us," added one of the Seers, although somewhat grudgingly.

"I will escort our guest back to the surface." Jaina found herself being herded by Anu'Shukhet, one massive scythe claw to each side of her. She bowed to the circle of councilors one last time and then allowed the Spiderlord to guide her back into the tunnel.

They walked in silence for some distance, darkness slowly enclosing them. Jaina tripped, then promptly walked into something she identified as Anu'Shukhet.

"Get on," said the Spiderlord gently. Jaina popped her tiny magelight on, and climbed aboard the Nerubian's back, seating herself as she had done on their approach. The steep slant of the tunnel made the position considerably less comfortable heading uphill, until Anu'Shukhet opened her wings, propping Jaina neatly against her torso.

"I suppose I should have expected that," Jaina said resignedly as they climbed. "But the idea is in their heads now."

"I must confess I'm confused about why you proposed an alliance in the first place. We have nothing of any value to you, except potentially mindless labour, which was repeatedly pointed out to me."

Jaina shifted. "That's ridiculous," she said. "Your culture is ancient, fractured yes, but old and full of knowledge. And you've lived in Northrend for centuries. If I'm to be here, and the Scourge under my command, then I feel I should reach out to my neighbours."

They moved in silence for some time. As they approached the dim haloed opening in the Oratory floor, Anu'Shukhet spoke again. "You've had thoughts on reaching out to your other neighbours, then?"

Yes," said Jaina immediately, "And I have a plan."

* * *

Before any further exploration of said plan could be done, Jaina needed to deal with the Death Knights. She found the Draenei, Beln, standing outside her chambers, muscular arms folded over his chest, listening to a perky Night Elf woman chatter on about her niece. He caught sight of her as she approached and turned his companion around with two large hands on her shoulders to face Jaina. Jaina blinked. The Night Elf woman was clearly undead.

"Hello! Greetings, Lady Proudmoore!" chirped the elf and dropped into an exuberant bow. "I'm Pelcyr, holy priestess of Elune." She offered her hand, beaming. Jaina shook it.

"Thank you for offering your services, priestess," said Jaina graciously, and lead the way down the corridor to the locked storage room doubling as a jail. Dreilide, the plague hound, sat by the door, either guarding the room or strategically positioning himself to encounter Jaina. His tail started to wag.

"Good boy," she murmured and patted his head, then unlocked the wards she had placed on the room. She entered, alert but unafraid. Dreilide remained outside, growling softly. The priestess followed her. The warrior paused, then shut the door behind them.

"Recruiting innocent bystanders, now?" Kagra greeted her with a venomous tone.

"You seem well enough," replied Jaina tersely. Pelcyr ignored the orc and knelt beside Xochi. He blinked at her and managed to look both chagrined and irritated simultaneously.

"Whatever you want, you won't get it from me," growled Kagra.

"I don't want anything from you," replied Jaina, "Perhaps an apology." She expected that to shock the orc speechless momentarily, and it did. She watched a pale golden haze blur through Pelcyr's fingers as she focused on Xochi, pursing her lips. Then:

" _What?_ "

"For trying to kill me."

"Phaugh! Apologize? You should have let us do it. It'd save you from-"

"Now you listen here," snapped Jaina, striding across the room to glare up at the other woman, "I am in full command of my own mind. The decisions I make are my own-  _my own_. I didn't want this 'gift', I didn't ask for it, and if I had the choice-" she paused and bared her teeth at Kagra, "-if I had a choice, I'd take it again. I wouldn't trust  _you_  with it. Tirion? It would destroy him. Mograine's frequently shown he lacks the capacity for good decisions. Can you picture young Hellscream on the Frozen Throne? Absolutely not. And I don't trust Sylvanas. I'm terrified of what I could do, and more over, I don't  _know_  what I can do, so I am very, very careful."

"'Spose dat's yer reason fer wantin' the necromancer ta teach ya, eh?" grumbled Xochi. He sat up stiffly, Pelcyr aiding him with an arm around his shoulders. He rubbed his neck where Kazimir had shot him and winced.

"Exactly!" said Jaina, eyes flashing. "And you decided it was a good enough reason to kill me."

"It is!" retorted Kagra fiercely, leaning into Jaina's personal space, hands curled into claws. "You want to study darkness? That filth will corrode your soul, steal the good in you, and leave you empty!"

"Is that how it went with you?" Jaina spat. "You're empty of all good, only decided to rebel against Arthas because he wasn't  _using_  you right?" Kagra flinched at Arthas' name.

"You don't understand," the orc said sullenly, backing down, "You won't til you see it for yourself. I could tell you everything we saw- and did- in the name of that bastard, and you would still think you could rise above it somehow. Well, let me tell you, human- blood never washes off. And your necromancer friend reeks of it."

Pelcyr helped the Troll to his feet, gave him a friendly pat, and went to sit beside Starkweather.

"If I am to do this right," said Jaina, "I need to understand  _everything_  about this power. Even the parts that make me sick. I've accidentally called the Scourge in fear. What if I do something worse, without realizing it? I managed to order the Scourge away when I called. What if I do something I can't stop? And yes, Kazimir is not an innocent man, but he is the only Scourge I've met so far with the intelligence and the willingness to train me."

"Don' chu tink dat's a bit suspicious?" asked Xochi, leaning against the wall beside Kagra. He hooked his thumbs through his belt and cocked his head. "Ah mean, da man just showed up outta nowhere, perfect timin'. Ja know he from da Cult, right?"

Jaina nodded. "Of course I'm suspicious. He's too calm, too sure of himself. He waited for me to seek him out after he was captured. And he's not shy about admitting his part in any of this. He definitely came here for some purpose, but I can sense no ill intent from him."

Kagra snorted. "Probably because that's  _all_  he intends. You got no comparison."

"Ja watch yaself, Lady King," said Xochi. "Da Cult's good at runnin' an' hidin'. Ja can't sense 'em, can ya? Cause they be livin' folk. Der leader still be out der somewhere too, an' he prob'ly not happy seein' you take da reins."

"You mean Kel'Thuzad," muttered Jaina, putting one finger to her lips in thought. Her eyes widened.  _Kel'Thuzad! It was him! He must have been the undead I couldn't see, the one who replied to me telepathically!_  "But where would he go?"

Kagra shrugged and looked obstinent. Xochi shook his head. "Could be anywhere."

"Not anywhere," said Jaina firmly, "It can't be easy for him to hide. He doesn't have a lot of friends left. Excuse me."

"Lady Proudmoore? Uh, a moment please?" It was Pelcyr. She was seated beside Starkweather, hands out-stretched above his chest, fingers splayed. Jaina approached. "What happened to him?" asked the priestess in a low voice.

"I threw him against a wall," Jaina replied.

"You broke… a lot of him. I will need more time to heal him completely." Jaina swallowed, pushing down the instant pang of regret.  _He was trying to kill you._  She turned to the other two Knights.

"I trust you have no violent intentions towards this woman?"

"Course not," said Xochi, wide-eyed. He looked hurt she would even suggest it.

"No," grunted Kagra. Pelcyr smiled at the two Death Knights. Jaina nodded to the priestess.

"Take what time you need."

She left the room. The warrior, Beln, stood outside, feeding Dreilide crumbs of cheese.

"Pelcyr's healing is taking some extra time and I have something I must attend to urgently. The Death Knights have given their word no harm will come to her but… will you go in and keep guard?"

"Yes, Lady King, though it's the Death Knights that'll need guarding if they get feisty. Pel's only cute til you make her angry." Jaina raised her eyebrows.

"A tale for another time," she said. "Thank you."

Jaina stopped at her chamber to collect the Helm of Domination, then took the transporter up to the Frozen Throne. She swallowed, and deliberately turned her back on the icy edifice. She sat down and settled the mask over her head. The pale glow was almost welcoming. Jaina took a few moments to calm her racing heart and smoothed her palms along the creases in her gown, acclimating her mind to the expansive power of the Helm. Then she took a deep breath, let it out, and clenched her fists.

_**Kel'Thuzad!** _

* * *

Kel'Thuzad tripped on his own feet when her voice thundered into his mind.

**I know you're out there somewhere! Now** _ **answer me**_ **!**  The transformed lich picked himself up and re-oriented, casting about the landscape for undead that might have witnessed his stumble and potentially tipped Jaina off. There were none.

**Where are you? I know that was you! It couldn't have been anyone else! How are you hiding from me? Where are you? What are you doing?**  At the moment, Kel'Thuzad was halfway between Icecrown Citadel and the hidden Cult camp, but he had no intention of letting her know anything. He continued on, grimly ignoring her. He couldn't shut her out entirely, although there was no danger of her breaking his shields. She didn't even know they existed.

**Azeroth isn't that big,** she threatened, her malice crackling with sincerity,  **where do you think you can hide from me? I'm going to find you and the later that is, the angrier I'll be. Answer me! Where are you?**

Her voice dogged him as he continued on. Kel'Thuzad had spent almost a month at the Citadel in the guise of Kazimir Frostblood and although he did not have much information for his Cultists, he needed to give them what he did know.  _Jaina Proudmoore is our lord and master._

As he approached the cliffs where the little camp lay, he sensed something amiss. Jaina was still valiantly attempting to get his attention, but it wasn't her that drew his eye. A shred of dark blue fabric, rimed in silver, dangled from the tip of an icicle. Well, more of a bloodsicle. Kel'Thuzad blinked to the top of the cliff.

The place was in shambles. Tents ripped down, the leather frozen stiff with coagulated gore, poles snapped, supplies strewn about. There were hollows where the ice had been melted by magic or fire, only to refill with a fine new layer of blown snow. Kel'Thuzad stood for a moment, rage simmering just shy of expression. Two steps from himself, he saw a small, pale hand protruding through the snow, flesh silver-grey, fingernails dark blue. He marked the location in his mind and carefully explored the rest of the ruin.

They had stolen food and other supplies such as the living would want. Kel'Thuzad snarled and continued. This could have happened weeks ago. It could have happened last night. There was always fresh snow, always wind. He summoned his power and began to search. Whoever had done this had not thought to burn the bodies and in the end, he found nine of his Cult, crushed and mangled and gutted and tortured, and buried by the merciless winter.  _There were thirty-four here. Where are the rest?_

Kel'Thuzad made his way back to the dainty hand in the snowbank, crouched and began to dig. She was stripped naked, jaw broken, half-scalped, smears of blood frozen on her ivory skin. The lich sat back on his haunches and fought to control his fury, staring at the murdered Cultist.  _They are mine! Who dared this- this desecration? I will find you! I will find you and you will know suffering…!_  He pulled the corpse free of the ice and held his hands over her, power surging within him, borne on the strength of anger.

The woman lurched into a sitting position, whimpering, bringing her hands to her eyes, pawing at them.

"Calm down," said Kel'Thuzad, striving to mimic his lich-voice so she might recognize him. She gurgled and turned towards him.

"M-m-my l-l-ord?" she managed, haltingly, fumbling out the words with a frozen tongue.

"Yes," he replied, and put one hand behind her head. "Be still, child." She held as still as she could but she was trembling noticeably.

"They- they-"

"Will die in agony at my hand for this. Yes." He warmed his fingertips with magic and pinched her frozen eyelashes until she could open her eyes. She turned to him immediately.

"Vrykul," she said, and Kel'Thuzad gritted his teeth. Then she looked down at herself and gave a little cry of joy. "My lord, you find me worthy of undeath!"  _Well, not exactly. I need answers and you were inconveniently dead._  "I am yours to command," she said and struggled to her feet, trying to bow and rise at the same time. Kel'Thuzad pulled off his cloak and wrapped it around her shoulders.

"Find some clothes. I will raise the others."

A half hour later, Kel'Thuzad had a little train of Cultists following him as he went from corpse to corpse, bringing them into undeath. Each and every one thanked him, and each of them told the same story: several dozen Vrykul, warriors and mages, had closed in on them. It was a planned attack. Most of the remaining Cult had managed to escape; these nine had bought them the time they needed. The first woman he had raised was confident she could find them, at another secret meeting point further east. They showed him the little banks of ash that had once been their Vrykul attackers.

"What of the book?" he asked and two of them went running, plowing through a waist-high drift to retrieve a shimmering bundle. One peeled back the paper, enchanting vellum bespelled to make the object look like nothing more than a chunk of grey ice, and the lich nodded with satisfaction. He cradled the book in his long fingers and gazed over the newly undead Cult of the Damned.

_They are undead now, vessels for Jaina to see through and to use. I cannot let her find me. Nine lives are nothing compared to my own._  He turned back to the expectant faces grouped around him.

"You have all done very well," he said, and opened his arms, gesturing for them to gather together before him. They obeyed. "You have protected an important artifact and bravely stood your ground so your brothers and sisters could continue our work." They all looked proud in their own way: some humble, eyes cast down, trying not to smile; some fierce and arrogant, meeting his gaze; some with calm, knowing that their hard work had been finally rewarded. None had doubted him for a moment.

"You have each  _truly_  earned my gift," he whispered, and the entire group flared briefly, then collapsed into black ash, dusting the churned up snow. Kel'Thuzad stood motionless, watching the cold wind mingle the greasy soot in little eddies. Then he turned away, clutching the book against his chest.

* * *

"Where's your cloak?" asked Imuruk. Kel'Thuzad supposed the shaman used the spirits to find him unerringly, but he was not in the mood to banter.

"Gone," he replied and stalked away. Imuruk fell into step beside him.

"What's that?"

"Nothing," Kel'Thuzad snapped and put his other hand over the book protectively. "For Jaina." The shaman skittered around in front of him, blocking his path.

"There's something wrong," said Imuruk, squinting at him. Kel'Thuzad drew himself up and was about to deliver a life or death ultimatum when the shaman pointed one finger and said, "Your eyes were blue, weren't they?"

"What? Yes, they're blue."

"No, now they're red."

"What? That's impossib-" Kel'Thuzad stopped himself. He had used an awful lot of power bringing nine people back to life and then destroying them. A lot more power than a Scourge adept could ever hope to wield. "Red?"

Imuruk nodded. Quickly, Kel'Thuzad raised one hand and looked it over.

"Claws," he said, alarmed. The tips of his fingers, once bluntly human, now narrowed to points, an inch beyond the length they should have been. He ran the hand over his brow, then down his jaw. "Dammit," he said weakly and began flipping through the book. He stopped and hurriedly re-read a section of the spell enacted on him.

Imuruk cocked his head.

"The spell only holds if I keep true to the form," Kel'Thuzad muttered to himself, "Including the magic I work. I had hoped I would have more time…" He closed the book carefully and glared at the shaman for lack of a more appropriate target.

"I don't know where you were, or what you were up to, but am I to understand that if you use your  _real_  powers, you will eventually regain your true appearance?"

"Yes."

"Well, just stay out of combat then," suggested the Nerubian optimistically.

"It's not that simple," Kel'Thuzad hissed. "If I'm to teach Jaina, I will be using powers this form was never meant to wield."

"So eventually, no matter what you do, you're going to end up…" His voice trailed off at the look the lich gave him. "…taller than me," Imuruk finished weakly and scrambled aside to let Kel'Thuzad storm past, into the Citadel.

* * *

Jaina was sealing the last envelope when Kazimir appeared in the open doorway of her chamber and politely knocked.

"Just a moment," she acknowledged and fanned the wax, waiting impatiently for it to set. She had found a seal with fairly innocuous imagery- a pair of crossed spears, bound by a tattered ribbon- and now shuffled the missives into a thick pile. She placed the last one on top, blowing on the wax.

"Hello, Kazimir. What is it?"

"I brought you a book, my King." He held out a blue, leatherbound tome, closed with brass fasteners. She juggled the letters into one hand and accepted it, curious. There were no markings on the covers or spine. "It's a necromantic spellbook, quite comprehensive. It contains a thorough overview of basic techniques, as well as more imaginative, advanced spells. You might find it useful to study from."

"Best to know what I'm getting myself into," she said and tucked the book into the crook of her elbow as she left the room. "Where did you find it? I thought Tirion destroyed everything he could lay his hands on in the Citadel."

"This and several others were hidden in the Cathedral of Darkness." He followed her down the hall to the make-shift prison and hung back, waiting in the corridor beside Dreilide as she entered.

"Beln," she addressed the Draenei, who stood conversing with Kagra. "Would you happen to know, er… eight people willing to act as messengers? I have instructions here," she said, offering him a sheet of parchment. The warrior took it and scanned the words. Kagra glared sullenly at Jaina around Beln's shoulder.

"Certainly, Lady Proudmoore."

"Thank you," said Jaina, ignoring Kagra. Beln passed her and shut the door behind him as he left to summon his comrades. Jaina turned to the priestess on the floor beside the prone Death Knight. "Ah, how is Starkweather?"

"Unconscious still," said Pelcyr, whorls of golden energy swirling over her hands, "He needed a lot repaired inside; I left him asleep so he shouldn't feel it."

"Very well. Come find me when you're finished so I can pay you." She nodded to the adventurer and exited.

"Is it wise to trust mercenaries?" asked Kazimir quietly. Jaina shrugged.

"What choice do I have? All I really trust at this moment is myself, but I can't be everywhere."

"Perhaps not yet," said the mage cryptically. Jaina cocked her head.

"I have nothing specific to attend to for several hours," she said slowly, "perhaps we could… begin my instruction?" Kazimir perked up, straightening out of his affected slouch. _Is he slouching because he doesn't want to appear taller than me, or because it makes him seem less menacing?_

"My King, I would be honoured."

Kazimir was adamant that they use one of the abandoned, and mostly destroyed, laboratories in the western basements of the Citadel. Jaina shivered in the humid cold of the ransacked halls, following the necromancer until he found a room that suited him. To her relief, it prominently featured a fireplace. Kazimir poked around the lab, picking up things here and there that had survived annihilation, while Jaina sparked a flame. She fed it splintered chairs and table legs until the room was comfortably warm.

"First," said Kazimir, standing imperiously tall behind a scarred workbench, "I will teach you the history of necromancy." Jaina took her place across from him. It was eerily similar to her experience in Dalaran, learning one on one with Antonidas or another of the high magi.

"Should I take notes?" she felt compelled to ask. Kazimir paused.

"Yes, it might be best to put these things in your own words for greater understanding."

There was another brief break as they both scrounged for paper and pencil. Finally supplied, they re-took their places and Jaina nodded.

"All right. I'm ready."

"Then I shall begin, my King."

Jaina's first lesson in necromancy was surprisingly tame. Kazimir described how the Nathrezim, which she knew as Dreadlords and eager servants of the Burning Legion, were the first known creatures to practice necromancy. Little was understood of how they first got the idea or achieved their results, but they went on to teach the blood-possessed orcs of the Horde. It was the orcs that originally brought the concepts and spells to Azeroth.

"Orcish necromancy is somewhat different than what we learned at the Scholomance. Although both the Nathrezim and the Lich King are ultimately products of the Burning Legion, the Nathrezim developed their studies long before Kil'jaeden created the Lich King, who in turn instructed Kel'Thuzad, who taught us. Kil'jaeden was most interested in a way to make a blindly obedient army, one that wouldn't betray him or his master, Sargeras. Control was his focus when he provided the Lich King's powers."

"So I'm not able to impart sentience, or awareness, to the Scourge?"

Kazimir steepled his long fingers. "Sentience and awareness depend on the individual. The Lich King's will  _suppresses_  these things. Those undead who are somehow freed from your powers, such as the Forsaken, are quite capable of retaining intelligence. However, I would advise you  _not_  to attempt freeing the Scourge."

"Why not?" asked Jaina, thinking of Sylvanas' constant bitterness and anger.

"Several reasons. First, resurrection is psychologically traumatic. Some individuals simply don't survive it with their minds intact and would remain mindless even if you did release them from your will. Second, the manner in which the plague of Lordaeron killed and raised the dead- which is how most of the Forsaken came into undeath- had no added magical compulsions. It was concocted by the Cult of the Damned per the Lich King's instructions, but without instant obedience built in. Instead, the plague relied on the Lich King to direct the undead army, once it existed. When the Lich King was momentarily weakened, his control slipped off them and those who were not broken by the resurrection became the Forsaken.

"However, once Arthas had taken full control of the Lich King's powers at the Frozen Throne, he made changes to the necromantic spells we used, and the alchemical formulae for the plague. He made certain that most dead raised were mindless upon resurrection, with no remaining will. They can't rebel; they can't even  _want_  to. If you release them, they will still be mindless, and indiscriminately dangerous."

Jaina found herself scribbling this down intently.  _Arthas was so obsessed with trust and loyalty after Uther and… and I refused to help him burn Stratholme. When Sylvanas broke away and took the Forsaken with her, he must have viewed it as another betrayal._  She realized she had stopped writing and was staring at the paper, biting her lip, quietly angry at a dead man for his stupidity.  _You were so paranoid._

"Shall I continue?" asked Kazimir. Jaina nodded, then held up a hand.

"Wait, what about the Death Knights? They were under his control but they freed themselves as well."

"Ah. Yes. The Ebon Blade knights were resurrected with different compulsions built into the spells. They were to be fearless, mostly, and heedless of their own safety. Berserkers. However, they were also supposed to be commanders, and so they were not brought back mindless; they had their intellect and personalities intact. The useless ones were weeded out during training."

Jaina nibbled her pencil, remembered where she'd found it, and quickly stopped. "So am I to understand that there are different degrees of control in the resurrection spells themselves?"

Kazimir nodded. "The vast majority of the Scourge is mindless, intentionally or not. Battlefield necromancers only know the spells to reanimate a corpse while suppressing its personality. Those with more training, like myself, can bring a person into undeath intact. This is where Kil'jaeden's necromancy, and thus yours, differs from the orcs that learned from the Dreadlords. Their spells cannot command obedience, only achieve undeath. However, it is a well-exploited fact that a resurrected corpse will almost always be obedient to the necromancer who raised it."

" _Almost_  always?"

"Mostly it depends on the circumstances of the individual's death, how fractured their mind was upon resurrection, and their experiences immediately afterward. The orcs used necromancy to raise corpses that died violently in battle for the most part, often while the battle was still on-going. The newly undead would fixate on the necromancer. Reanimation spells work, and feel, similar to a healer's spells and make the necromancer quite a non-threatening entity. Couple that with the chaos and fear they felt at death, and almost all undead are immediately loyal."

"What about the sort that get pulled out of cemeteries? I know the Scourge raided them in Lordaeron," said Jaina, narrowing her eyes.

"Again, it depends on the manner of their death and circumstances of their reanimation. Most graveyard corpses, unless they're within a few weeks of death, are not going to be sentient."

"Why not?"

"The brain rots. Without the brain, there's no personality or intellect to preserve."

"Oh. I thought awareness had more to do with the person's soul."

Kazimir clasped his hands behind his back and paced a little. "It's more complex than that. Essentially, the mind remembers the soul and calls it back. Without a brain, there is no recall."

"What about you? You're, well," she gestured to the skeletal mage, "you're mostly bones."

"Ah. That's not how I died. It's an aesthetic. You've noticed how the Scourge are organized into visual 'types'? Appearance makes it easier to tell what sort of creature you're dealing with. That too is built into Scourge necromancy. I'm a mage, so I have this appearance. Ghouls all look similar, geists all look similar, liches look similar to a certain extent."

Jaina, grudgingly and with some revulsion, realized that she was fascinated. "I always wondered about that, about the similar appearances. But wait- you said if the brain has decayed, the undead raised from that body will always be mindless, right?"

"Yes."

"What about Kel'Thuzad? I saw him die- I saw him buried. I know he was dead long enough to decompose and yet he isn't mindless."

"Good observation, my King, and a valid question. Kel'Thuzad split his soul from his body months before his death. Whether he was instructed to do it by the Lich King, or whether he achieved it on his own, I can't say. In a sense, it wasn't his mind that recalled his soul, but his soul that recalled a body for itself. It also helped that he was resurrected in the Sunwell. It amplified the spells Arthas used and provided… useful side-effects."

Jaina cringed. She remembered Sylvanas, practically foaming at the mouth, as she described the act of desecration perpetrated on her people's sacred fountain of power by Arthas. The wellspring had been sullied and diminished for years.

"What sort of side-effects?"

"I don't know facts, only rumours. I prefer not to speculate."

Kazimir continued his lecture, explaining academic differences between the necromancy practiced by the Nathrezim-taught orcs, and the Scholomance-educated Scourge. On paper, it was easy to forget the effects of the magic they discussed. It had its own history, its own pioneers and legends, and the fractious intra-disciplinary spats that permeated all intellectual institutions. Kazimir didn't open a single book while he spoke. Jaina's first lesson began and ended in merely theoretical terms.

As she left the laboratory, she felt her spirits somewhat bolstered by the simple act of learning. She had been away from Dalaran for many years, but some of her fondest memories involved old books and long nights spent teasing out the meaning of words into working incantations. Jaina knew this would be considerably less enjoyable once they started with the practical side of her education, but for this moment, this day, she felt confident that she could master necromancy without sacrificing her morals entirely.

Kazimir showed her pages in the book he acquired that she should review before they met again, and she spent the next several days reading and re-reading the introductory chapter of the tome. When she felt restless, she ventured up to the Frozen Throne and settled the Helm over her eyes, peering soundlessly into her kingdom. When the material of the book grew too perturbing, she found an enclosed courtyard where she could practice her own magic; clean, strong, well-remembered routines that perfectionism and hours of practice had drilled into her.

But the book  _was_  disturbing, and five days later, Jaina found herself walking purposefully across the glacier towards a lonely white and black tent inscribed with a golden sun. With the weather growing progressively colder and windier, Jaina had added a padded jacket with a high collar beneath the black cloak, and pulled the hood up as she advanced.

Wind had scoured the ice clean in many places, making progress slow and treacherous. Like all of the heroes and adventurers that had come north, answering the call to defend their world, she had learned there was a trick to walking on ice. You had to walk a little pigeon-toed, the muscles in your thighs prepared to pull your legs together should you lose balance, and place each foot so that the ball and heel contacted the ice at the same time. She still slipped sometimes, but she didn't fall.

Jaina paused at the closed door flaps.

"Tirion?" she said quietly. There was a rustle of papers and shifting armour, then calloused fingers pushed the flap open.

"Jaina," said the paladin. He looked the same as before, sad and haggard. "Come in."

"Thank you," she said awkwardly and sat on a squat stool he offered. "I didn't come to apologize," she began, "And I won't change my mind about learning necromancy, but…" She drew a deep breath. "I'm scared."

Tirion sighed and reached between them to brush her hair back from her face. "Are you sure? Child, you're brave and strong. You've proved it time and time again, and although I disagree with the particular path you've chosen, I don't doubt you."

"You don't?"

He shook his head. "You stood with Uther at Stratholme," he said, "Arthas faltered and fell, but you never have. He was celebrated, revered,  _destined_ ; he was given the best teachers, the greatest chance to succeed, and he failed. You've only ever asked for what you needed, and earned the rest." He paused and looked down at his hands. "However you ended up with this curse, Jaina, perhaps there was some wisdom in its choice. Now, what is it that has you scared? Learning death magic?"

She nodded. "It's not the discipline in and of itself, Tirion. It's me. I- Well, when I was in Dalaran, the more I learned, the happier I was. I know I can lose myself in books for hours, days even. Information consumes me. What if I let this consume me too, and I get lost in it?"

"I'm not sure I follow."

"What I convince myself I'm doing good when I'm really doing evil?"

Tirion smiled. "I've done a lot of thinking since you yelled at me. No, no. You were right. I have no idea what it is to be the Lich King. It's clear none of us understood these powers, though we thought we did. You've a mind that  _can_  explore it, and master it, but Jaina, I believe your mind is incapable of doing evil." He took her hands and bade her rise. "And I certainly know you have the courage and tenacity to stand up for what you believe is right."

Jaina blinked back tears, surprised at the gentleness of his convictions. "Thank you," she murmured. "If I- if I do something wrong, Tirion, you'll stop me, won't you? Like you stopped Arthas?" She swallowed.

The old paladin nodded. "If it comes to that. Though I doubt it ever will."

Jaina left the tent feeling buoyed, but her trepidation descended once more as she returned to the Citadel. Gathering her notes and the book Kazimir had given her, she headed down into the laboratory.

The undead mage had arrived before her. He was arranging things on the workbench and looked up as she entered.

"My King."

"I kind of wish you'd just call me Jaina," she said, looking over the various implements with growing dread. Most of them were small, delicate instruments: scalpels, probes, needles, forceps, scissors, and a peculiar three-armed chain with hooks at each end. She vehemently did not want to know what that was used for. There was a lumpy leather bag in front of the mage, a pair of black candles, and several sheets of paper with near-unreadable scrawl on them.

"I- I suppose I could try, if that is what you wish," replied Kazimir, clearly uncomfortable with the idea.

"Just in here, if that makes you feel better about it," she said. "Here, I'm your student. Now, um, what exactly are we doing?" Kazimir straightened up, a sure sign there was a lecture pending.

"One of the fundamental aspects of necromancy is a thorough knowledge and understanding of how the body functions. We're going to start with a rat." Before Jaina could protest or even cringe properly, Kazimir pulled a dead rat out of the bag. Jaina squeaked and took a step back.

"I don't like rats," she said sheepishly.

"Then that will either make this harder, or easier," replied the mage, and positioned the rat on its back, long scaly tail pointing toward Jaina. He picked up a tiny pair of scissors. "I could show you diagrams of a rat's muscles, it's veins and arteries, and the bones beneath, but the first thing you must understand about bodies is that  _each one is different_. There is a standard lay-out to all creatures, of course, but nature is whimsical, easily bored, and imaginative." He opened the scissors and slid the bottom blade neatly into the creature's throat, perhaps half a centimeter. From there he began cutting down the rat's chest, towards Jaina. He talked as he worked.

"Many students of necromancy- myself included- wondered why our instructors required us to know anatomy as well as any surgeon. The reason," he explained, snipping meticulously down the rat's belly, "is because what remains of a body is vitally important to its undead functioning. When I shot that Death Knight in the neck, I severed his spinal cord and he was as paralyzed as any living man. Nerves are important at every level of reanimation, from simple ghouls to a work as complex as the Knights of the Ebon Blade. Skeletons, before you ask, function on a framework of spells that mimic the functionality of the nervous system in a living creature, and though easy to achieve, if you learn the incantation improperly and cross the trochlear weave with the abducent, you will end up with a skeleton incapable of directing its magically-induced vision."

Jaina nodded, staring in repulsed fascination as Kazimir made two more cuts from the center of the rat's chest down the inside of both forelimbs, and all the way around the wrists. He made similar cuts down the inside of the rodent's thighs and around its heels. Then he set aside the scissors and pulled the incision open on the rat's chest with his fingers. He peeled back the fur and skin, and pointed to what looked like white fuzz that made an unsettling ripping sound when he tugged on the pelt.

"Connective tissue," he clarified. "Not mold, or fungus, or any other byproduct of decay. This is normal."

"Okay," said Jaina out loud, thinking  _ew!_ to herself. Kazimir caught her expression.

"There is no need for you know how to skin an animal, so if you would prefer not to watch…"

Jaina paused. Her father and both older brothers had hunted, but she had never hung around to watch them clean their kills. It had neither interested nor repulsed her. "No, I'll stay." Kazimir nodded and continued. The rat was partially frozen, which made the process considerably less gory. The mage carefully pulled the animal's pelt off everything but the paws, tail, and head, pointing out tiny veins and surface features of the exposed muscle. After her initial disgust, Jaina once again found herself intrigued.

"Undead mobility depends on which muscles it retains, and how much of them." Kazimir turned the rat on its belly and used the pointed tip of a needle to lightly outline different muscle groups, explaining their function and where they connected to the rat's skeleton. "If you have a corpse that will obviously limp upon resurrection, you can alter the incantations for leg muscle use to compensate. Most battlefield incantations don't account for differences in muscle mass or connectivity and are self-altering, but not perfect. This is why a lot of ghouls tend to move slowly, limp, or stumble. Again, skeletons rely entirely on magical recreations of muscles for locomotion. Now, before I continue, I want you to draw diagrams of the superficial muscles, in both dorsal and ventral views."

Jaina looked up. "I'm not any good at drawing," she said hesitantly. The undead mage shook his head.

"You don't need to be. But you need to know the basic shapes and placement of the muscles and simply labeling a sketch, or looking at a book will not help you remember as well as struggling to make an image look recognizable will." He laid down his tools and waited. Jaina took out a fresh sheet of paper and began to make a clumsy sketch of the rat's back.

Kazimir stabbed a finger at the image less than a minute later. "No. Look at the animal. These muscles aren't touching." Jaina grumbled to herself, erased, looked again, and re-drew the part in question. She continued with care until Kazimir was satisfied. He chose a scalpel and began to cut through the top layer of muscles, carefully arranging the rat to access whatever angle he required. All the while, he described what she was looking at and what it did.

Three hours passed with Kazimir deftly cutting and pointing, while Jaina sketched and squinted. Kazimir showed her how the heart was protected by a sheath of thick fibre behind the ribs, where the powerful diaphragm attached and worked like a bellows to bring air into the lungs, and how anything not immediately identifiable in the abdomen was probably part of the liver. The mage followed delicate veins and arteries, showing her where they lead. He teased out nerves with the long needle, naming them and explaining their function. Jaina wrote down everything.

"The entire circulatory system is waste in a corpse. No undead creature has need of a heartbeat, or moving blood. A corpse has no need of the oxygen or nutrients that blood supplies in the living. Muscles and nerves are your main concerns, and they can be replaced by, or enhanced with, magic."

Another hour later, Jaina realized she was starving. Kazimir covered the now-skeletal rat with a piece of cloth and slid it back into the bag.

"Next time," he said, "We will work on a larger specimen and  _you_  will be conducting the dissection while I watch. I expect you to know the functions of all muscles and nerves, though I will forgive you if are unable to name them all."

Jaina frowned at her notes. "So I wrote down xiphihumeralis for nothing then?"

"You never know. You might need it someday."

* * *

Twilight found Kel'thuzad carrying a large canvas sack and heading for the Dragonblight. He was not surprised when Imuruk joined him, emerging from the ice fog with muffled footsteps.

"I brought you a cape," said the shaman and shook out a piece of blood-red fabric decorated at the edges with unreadable Nerubian runes. Kel'Thuzad eyed his companion suspiciously.

"What does that say?"

Imuruk peered at the script. "Nothing terrible, I promise. Something grandiose about the power of fresh-spilled blood and the vanquishing of enemies." The lich examined the cloak with his magic and found it to be nothing more than decorative embroidery. He swung the garment around his shoulders.

"I suppose you're coming with me."

"I am! Where are we going?"

"South. I need a medium-sized corpse for the Lady King and there is little up here that qualifies except gnomes and goblins, which I suspect might horrify Jaina at this point."

"There's arctic hyenas in the Dragonblight."

"Yes, there are."

"I wonder how the dragons feel about animals scavenging their corpses."

"I really don't care."

The ground trembled for several seconds before a war mammoth moved into sight. In the freezing mist, the animal's breath billowed from it's mouth and trunk, wreathing it's armoured head, and the rider perched on it's back, wrapped in furs. As the shaggy beast continued past them, Kel'Thuzad caught a glimpse of a Troll's face, female, with impressive tusks and thick braids emerging from her hood. Then the rider disappeared in the direction of the Citadel.

"One of Jaina's hired mercenaries," said Imuruk thoughtfully, watching the mammoth over his shoulder. "What is it you suppose she has them doing? They went off in all different directions about a week ago."

"Our Lady King," said Kel'Thuzad, "is trying to forge alliances with all the people of Northrend."

"That's ambitious."

"Indeed. She has a name for it in her thoughts already. Just three words, over and over:  _the New Scourge_."


	7. Intermission : Tales from the Citadel

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Re-posting this means re-reading this and resisting the overwhelming urge to edit like crazy.

**1\. Once Upon A Time in Dalaran**

Jaina was thirteen. She had been studying in Dalaran for just over one year as a novice, and though it had taken some time to adjust to the unreal perfection of the magic city, it's pristine appearance had become ordinary. Perhaps that was why she noticed the bird. It wasn't perfect and lovely; it was dead, and it was out of place.

Jaina stopped and stared. It lay on the lawn beside a shop, black feet curled into tiny fists, wings spread awkwardly. A warm breeze ruffled the feathers on its breast. Jaina looked around. There were a few other pedestrians strolling the broad cobbled streets, but none of them were paying attention to her or the dead bird. She walked over and looked down at it. It was some kind of sparrow, mostly brown with a silvery chest. Its feathers were still mussed where the breeze had brushed it. Jaina could picture it alive, shaking the feathers back into place, or re-arranging them with its beak, but it was dead and couldn't smooth them out. She crouched down and after a moment, stroked it curiously with one finger. Her touch didn't fix the ruffled feathers.

She looked around to see if anyone had seen her pet the bird and self-consciously wiped her hand on her robe. What happened to dead things here? If her father or brother had found a dead bird, they would probably just ignore it. Jaina cocked her head. Should she tell someone? It wasn't a part of Dalaran's normal ambiance, so would someone come along and remove it? Did things rot normally like they did back home, becoming unidentifiable little piles of fluff and bones? Jaina didn't think there were scavengers in the city to eat the remains. Well, maybe there were rats in the sewers. Maybe they would come out at night and clean up.

Jaina thought perhaps she should take responsibility for it. Maybe that was how Dalaran worked, with everyone doing their bit to keep the city beautiful. What to do with a dead bird? Jaina bit her lip. She'd had a pet mouse once, just a regular house pest that she had secretly fed crumbs until it trusted her enough to let her hold it. Though the rats in the barn made her shriek and recoil, house mice were just too cute: big black eyes, fuzzy white eyebrows and tiny paws like little hands. Her father had yelled about diseases and bites and vermin when he found out, but Jaina was stubborn and seven years old and had cried when he threatened to dispose of the mouse. She'd kept it for a whole year. When it died, her father had dug a little grave for it in the garden and Jaina had said a prayer for it.

Where in Dalaran could she bury the bird? She and her father had buried the mouse in their garden. Jaina's apartment had a tiny garden...

A tolling bell made her jump. Jaina felt guilty, but she had classes to attend and they were more important than nameless, deceased wildlife. Besides, where was she going to get a spade to dig with? She glanced again at the sparrow and trotted off.

But Jaina thought about the bird all through the afternoon. If it was still there when she went by, she would pick it up and take it back to the little apartment her father had rented for her. She could dig with her hands and bury it. As she rounded the corner, she was so focused on reaching the tiny corpse that she almost failed to notice there was someone else standing on the lawn, looking down at the bird. Flustered, she tried to veer away, but as she did, she caught a glimpse of the stranger's face.

The glimpse froze her in her tracks. If it had been some merchant, another novice, or someone equally unimportant, she might have been able to leave. But this man was  _important_.

Jaina was young, but very intelligent. She knew about the mysterious Council of Six, the group of wizards that ruled Dalaran, and she had deduced several of the members by process of elimination one boring rainy day during meditation class. She was 99% certain that this man was one of them.

"Oh, hello," he said. Jaina wasn't sure where to look. She didn't want to seem like she had been walking towards the bird, but he was also examining it.

"Hello, sir," she said quietly, standing on one foot, then the other.

"Poor thing," said the man, "Must've flown into the window." He nodded to the shop bordering the lawn.

"Yes, sir."

He turned to look at her, and Jaina found herself caught in his gaze. "You're the Admiral's daughter, aren't you?" he said, and Jaina nodded.

"Yes, I am," she said. "How did you know?" Maybe he could read her mind.

"You're the only girl among the novices," he said. Oh. Well, that was true.

"Yeah," she said, "there's lots more boys here than girls." She hadn't meant to sound so disappointed, but that was how it came out. "Sir, are girls worse at magic?" she asked, worriedly. She had always been told that she had talent, but no one told her how much. By her estimate, there was only one woman on the Council of Six.

"No," replied the wizard, and he sounded amused. "It's not a matter of magic. It's a matter of… hmm… society."

"Just like paladins," said Jaina, dejected, "and warriors, and the heroes in stories." To her surprise, he nodded in agreement.

"Personally, I don't care if you're a man or a woman, as long as you're good at what you do." Jaina looked away, smiling to herself.  _He's nice._

"I am Kel'Thuzad," he said and held out his hand. Jaina took it, heart pounding with excitement. Maybe if he noticed her, the other Councilors would too! Perhaps she could get an apprenticeship with one of them if they found her clever enough…

"I'm Jaina Proudmoore," she replied, remembering her manners and curtsied politely. Kel'Thuzad pointed to the bird.

"You were coming to look at it?"

"Well, I saw it on my way to class, sir. I thought... maybe I should bury it."

"Where?"

"In my garden, I thought. Is there somewhere… better?" She really wanted to ask if there was a special place to put dead things, or if dead things in Dalaran were unusual, but her embarrassment got in the way. He crooked his index finger under his chin thoughtfully and raised an eyebrow at her.

"I suppose you could bury it in  _my_  garden."

"Oh- I- I don't mean to inconvenience you, sir," she said, trying not to stare too hard at the mage. She hadn't had an opportunity to speak one on one with many of the senior wizards, and now she was aware of a sort of latent electricity that hummed around Kel'Thuzad.

"It's no inconvenience," he replied, "I was on my way home." He leaned down and scooped the sparrow up in the palm of one broad hand, balancing the tiny body with long fingers. "Come on." Jaina tagged behind him eagerly. He was past middle-age, shoulder-length hair gone completely grey, but unlike most of the other old wizards, he went clean-shaven, like the elves. Jaina marveled at his robes, richly embroidered and dyed a brilliant crimson. Someday she would be worthy of wearing something so distinguished.

They came to his home, in a row of large, well-appointed apartments, and he held the gate open for her.

"Here," he said and showed her a flowering apple tree beside the fence. He set the sparrow aside and picked up a spade, rolled up his sleeves and knelt down, knocking the tip of the shovel against the ground so he could avoid digging where the roots lay. Jaina glanced at the bird.

"It feels kind of weird, putting a bird in the ground," she blurted, "I mean, they fly and all."

"Ah. I suppose it does. But," he said with a grunt as he pushed the spade into the sod, "when dead things rot, all the elements they're made of come apart. They go into the soil, they feed the grass and the tree, become leaves and flowers and fruit."

Jaina was nodding. "We're learning about element cycling in Energetics," she offered, wanting to show how much she was learning.

"Very good. So it will fly again, as something else." Kel'Thuzad pulled out spadefuls of earth, piling them beside the hole. "This should be deep enough." Jaina didn't hesitate. She picked up the sparrow in both hands and slid it carefully into the grave. She watched the mage smooth soil over it and tamp the cap of sod back on top. Jaina felt awkward, so she smiled.

"It was nice meeting you," she said and held out her hand again. He shook it. There was a tiny silver feather stuck to the webbing between his thumb and forefinger.

"A pleasure," he affirmed.

Four years later, he was surrounded by the rest of the Council. None of them looked happy. Jaina delivered the item her master, Antonidas, had cryptically asked her to retrieve and glanced questioningly toward Kel'Thuzad. Antonidas called him a rogue, though he shook his head and would not explain the label to her, saying only that Kel'Thuzad was playing a dangerous, serious game.

Jaina didn't understand until nearly a decade later, and when she did, her memory momentarily flickered back to the mage's sure, gentle hands cupping the fragile corpse of a hapless sparrow.

_I thought he was nice._

**2\. Indefinite Leave to Remain**

Anu'Shukhet did not like the surface. She was accustomed to the weight of the earth above her and here there was nothing but insubstantial clouds. They smudged the horizon, blending land and sky into one indistinct haze. She felt as though she might drift away.

Anu'Shukhet found herself above-ground more and more frequently. In the years since the War of the Spider had been lost, she and her ragged kingdom had been living a furtive, guerrilla existence in the shambles of their old world, and eventually set forth into the strange above-below of crevasses and tunnels that opened Icecrown glacier down to the bedrock. The ice sheet was so thick in places that even in day-time, no light could filter through and although they technically walked the surface of Azeroth, they still had kilometers of material between themselves and the sky.

Anu'Shukhet was just inside the mouth of one such ice tunnel, peering across the tundra. She wouldn't normally debate leaving the safety of the frozen 'underground', but she had smelled something on the mild spring wind. There was a Nerubian out there, on top of the ice. Anu'Shukhet's chemical senses had identified it only as one of her own species and she sucked at the air for more information, pulling the scarce taste of some lost countryman into her mouth.  _Male. Older than myself. Magic-user, but what kind I don't know. He's hurt._

With a hiss that was half challenge and half defiance, Anu'Shukhet started toward the source of the scent. Her size and vivid colours left her exposed against the melting snow; the Scourge could probably see her from the Storm Peaks. As she followed the tell-tale chemical signature, she began to pick up other clues. There was blood on the wind; warm, mammal blood, and two smells of fur, one damp with water, and one foul and unwashed.

Anu'Shukhet drew close enough to hear the fight, though there was a broad nunatak still between them, a jutting piece of the earth so massive it reared above the embrace of the glacier. The unknown Nerubian hissed and shrieked, a Seer or a Vizier forced to physical violence. She heard his panicked steps as he scrambled around on the thawing ice. Heavy, artless stomps followed him.  _Magnataurs. Oh what fun._ Though they were considered sentient in the annals of Nerubian biology, she had her doubts. She'd seen  _fish_  smarterthan the lumbering monsters.

Anu'Shukhet rounded the nunatak, coming in behind the two Magnataur hunters as they tried to corner the mystery Nerubian against the saw four small objects, polished wood and bone, dug into the snow behind the attackers, each giving off a different coloured light, and recognized them as a shaman's totems. If they belonged to the stranger, he had been driven too far from them to accept their help.

One of the hunters turned immediately when she issued a nerve-shaking roar. He raised a spear that looked like he had pulled up an entire spruce tree and tried to whittle the tip before giving up. Really, most things on the glacier couldn't survive getting bashed with a three-meter long club anyway. Why bother sharpening it?

He bellowed and brought the tree down. It snapped in half across Anu'Shukhet's shoulders and she recovered before he could stop staring at the splintered piece in his hand. With a yell, she reared up on her hind legs, putting him in shadow for a second before lunging downwards. He was an experienced hunter; some novices would have simply tried to dodge. Instead, he braced the roots of his club against the ground, presenting Anu'Shukhet with the broken end and hoping she would impale herself.

She lead with her claws, slicing the spear into three harmless sections like a scythe through wheat. Her front feet plowed into his torso, ripping through rotten pelts and unwashed flesh, her weight crushing bones and organs. She reared again and stomped a second time for good measure.

"Beware!" yelled the stranger breathlessly and Anu'Shukhet spun, claws crossed defensively in front of her, catching an enormous stone axe between them. The impact forced her onto her haunches. Her attacker pressed his imagined advantage and heaved the axe high overhead with both meaty arms. Anu'Shukhet lashed out with one claw, the edge opening his throat before he knew she had struck him. He dropped the axe with a gurgle and toppled.

She eyed the Magnataur hunters contemptuously, then looked to the shaman she had rescued. He stood awkwardly, braced on two uninjured legs with his hindquarters against the rock. At first she believed him too badly wounded to move, then noticed the heap of bloody fur between his feet.

"Th-thank you," he rasped at her, and crouched over the thing in the snow.

"Are you unhurt?" asked Anu'Shukhet, approaching to see what he was protecting. It looked and smelled like food. Maybe he would share with her.

"I'm- I'm- I'll be well," he answered. His words were slurred and badly pronounced. Half his face had been burned, one mandible deformed, the core eaten away by the acid used to brand him.  _Exile_.  _For what?_  He was much smaller than he should have been too, but aside from that and the fractures on his hind legs, he appeared healthy.

He leaned over the furry lump and spoke in fluent Common: "Earthsinger- Earthsinger?"

"What is that?" Anu'Shukhet asked, switching to Common as well. He glanced up.

"M-my teacher," he said, suddenly fearful. Anu'Shukhet could smell his worry, hear his hearts pounding. "P-p-please don't hurt us."

The young King was somewhat disappointed that the furry thing wasn't food, but his fright made a more immediate impression. _The last time he saw someone who looked like I do, they poured a cup of acid over his head, stripped him of his rank, and threw him out of the colony. No wonder he's afraid of me._

"I won't hurt you," she said gently. She stepped back to offer him space. "How can I help your teacher?"

He clearly didn't trust her, but his posture relaxed somewhat. "I don't know- I just need to- to- Can you check if there are more of those things?" Anu'Shukhet nodded and ambled past the pair of fresh corpses. She couldn't smell or see another Magnataur in the vicinity.

"You're fine," she reported, returning to the shaman. A bright green-white light streamed from his four hands. "You're a healer," she observed, impressed. He nodded.

"Sometimes," he said, without breaking concentration. "A better healer than I am a fighter," he choked as the light faded. He looked up. "We would have died without you." He laid the creature carefully against the ground. Anu'Shukhet wasn't sure what kind of being it was, but its chest was rising and falling, and that was a good sign for anything that wasn't undead. The shaman stood up in front of her, hands clasped together. "I owe you everything," he said softly, "Thank you. _Thank you._ "

"It was no trouble," she said, mildly amused at his sincerity.

"Anything within my power to give, it is yours," he continued in earnest, taking a step forward. "I don't know how I can repay you for this. What can I do?"

"May I know your name?"

"Oh. Of course! I am Imuruk," he said, and bowed stiffly. Anu'Shukhet leaned down so they were at eye-level with each other. She saw him fighting the urge to pull away.

"What did you do to get exiled?" she asked, raising one claw and carefully touching the burn. He blinked his three remaining eyes at the exploration but didn't flinch.

"They didn't know I was a shaman. They thought my magic- they thought it was... broken."

"Ah. So you've not really done anything to deserve this, then."

"I suppose not."

Anu'Shukhet watched him. "You know about the war, yes?"

"It's over, isn't it? I thought there was no more Azjol'Nerub, but you... you're alive."

"I am Anu'Shukhet, King of all that remains." She paused, listening to his frightened heart beats. "We're all exiles."

"King? But you're-"

"A legion commander? Yes. Just as mis-caste as you are, now." Anu'Shukhet pointed at the shaman's teacher. "Is that thing going to survive?"

Imuruk crouched, stroking the creature's fur. "She'll be all right. She would have been able to fight them, except they snuck up and brained her before she could do anything." Anu'Shukhet turned to leave.

"Take care of her then, Imuruk," she said, "And be at peace."

"Wait!"

Anu'Shukhet stopped. Imuruk limped after her, carrying his teacher in his lower set of arms. "You're the King of... everything?"

"There's not a lot to be King of. Fewer than a thousand people, though we refuse to stop exploring, looking for other survivors."

"I will take Earthsinger back to her village," said the shaman, "But I can't ignore my debt to you. I will serve, in any way you require."

Anu'Shukhet pondered the offer. "You can heal," she said, "And you speak this language well. What other tongues have you learned up here?"

"Some human words, a bit of orcish. Pieces of this and that. I- I can read and write, too. I know the land. I can identify herbs, I know ways to use them. And I..." He stopped. Anu'Shukhet cocked her head.

"Well, go on. What is it?"

"The... the spirits tell me things. Secrets. Things invisible to the living, or things they learned in life and could never pass on." Anu'Shukhet felt suddenly cold, as though a cloud had passed over the sun.

"You do have talents that we desperately need. Your teacher- will she be safe without you?"

The little shaman looked down at the supine creature in his arms. "Oh yes. She's good at being on her own- she came up here by herself to learn from the Taunka and be close to the ice. I've been among them for so long, or by myself, but I don't like it. The Taunka- they- they're Earthsinger's kin, but not mine."

"Then take her back to her people, and come find me when you're ready to return to your own."

* * *

"I can't believe I was unconscious for the whole damn thing!" lamented Earthsinger. The Tauren, awake and livid that she had missed her companion's first renewed contact with his people, tugged her braids with frustration. "What was she like? Scary? Domineering? Hungry?"

Imuruk toyed with a loose thread in the hem of his tunic. "She was beautiful."

Earthsinger's disappointment at missing the event turned to a wide grin. "Really."

"I've never seen someone so perfect. She was polite, even kind! She understood, I think, and she didn't threaten me, or even stare too much." He put one slender paw to his burned cheek. "She touched me."

"Well," said Earthsinger, amber eyes glowing with fondness for her peculiar friend, "When are you going to meet with her again?" Imuruk shifted, awkward.

"I... I don't know. I mean, um, I don't know how to find her."

Earthsinger snorted. "Thrall's beard, you're a bad liar! What are you afraid of? Her? Them?"

Imuruk tapped his fingertips against each other and avoided her gaze. "She saved your life, and mine. Eosa, I owe her  _everything_. But what can I give her?"

"If you must think in terms of barter, then give her a shaman. Better yet, give her another citizen for her empire. She let you go to make your own choice, Imuruk."

"What if she doesn't really want me? What if that's why she let me go?"

Earthsinger frowned. "Did it really seem like that to you? From what I understand there aren't many Nerubians left. My people, we were at war for generations with the centaur in the Barrens. We were many tribes and we had our differences, but we united in common interest to make a home for ourselves. What if that's what this... Ashu- uh, whatever- what if that's what she wants?"

"Anu'Shukhet. Anu'Hazad was one of the outer provinces. She was a legion commander..."

"Go talk to her. See what's become of your people. If it isn't what you hoped, come back. I'll always give you a job charting meltwater variances and working the auger for my core samples."

"Er, thanks. I think."

"Right. I always forget no one is quite as excited about ice as I am..."

* * *

"How fascinating," said the towering Vizier, peering down at Imuruk with calculating sapphire eyes, "I had always been told no one could survive above ground. Madness would take you, they said. The sky is too much for one mind; so vast a thing reminds you what a terribly insignificant creature you truly are."

Imuruk decided he didn't really like Anu'Shukhet's Vizier, but the man was his guide and guardian until the King returned from her patrol.  _Old habits die hard,_ thought the shaman,  _she must have lead daily patrols when she was just a commander. Maybe it gives her comfort, or some kind of normalcy._

"I quite like it," Imuruk replied cheerfully, "It's sometimes frightening to feel so small, but it reminds you that you are part of a large, wonderful system too."

"A psychological replacement for the colony perhaps," mused the Vizier, "An ingenious survival strategy."

"Vostok!" Both of them looked up as Anu'Shukhet approached. Imuruk clasped his hands together in equal parts excitement and trepidation. "Who's that you're intimidat- oh! Imuruk!" she said and Imuruk instantly forgot about his disapproving chaperone. She nodded to the Vizier but didn't look at him. She was focused on Imuruk. "I wasn't sure if I should expect you."

"It took me some days to find you. The entrance is very well hidden. I couldn't see it- I could hardly smell it!"

"I'm happy you found us," she said, "Come, let me show you around."

Vostok, the Vizier, followed them for a few minutes in silence until he was called away. "He's not exactly welcoming," Anu'Shukhet said apologetically. "Smart man, though." They walked together down a curving tunnel lit with hanks of phosphorescent lichen. In the blue-green light, Anu'Shukhet's armour took on almost gem-like vibrancy and depth, but when she moved, Imuruk could see every scratch, every abrasion and crack, every scar that marred her carapace. They had been buffed and sealed, but Imuruk found himself mesmerized by the hundreds of little stories written in those imperfections.

"Ah yes," she said, apparently realizing what he was looking at, "I've managed to keep our healers busy. Perhaps it's not becoming of a King, but we need every fighting body we can get." She lead him to an open grotto where a group of soldiers practiced with short spears. Ranged around the perimeter were crates and sacks, some bearing the blue mark of the Alliance, some stamped with the red Horde heraldry.  _I doubt very much that these goods were got in trade_.

"No," said Imuruk, "I think it's quite becoming. Without those little marks, you would be merely lovely. With them comes proof of your dedication, your valour and skill. It makes your beauty downright intimidating."

Anu'Shukhet fluttered her wing casings. "Well  _you_  certainly have a way with words," she replied but behind the hearty exclamation was a sense he had genuinely flattered her.

"It's easy to be be honest."

Anu'Shukhet chuckled. "I like you."

They continued through the enclave. Imuruk found it relaxing to share with Anu'Shukhet. It became apparent that she valued truth more than tact, and he volunteered the tale of his youth, embarrassing though parts of it was. She replied with her own past and the new history of her mis-matched kingdom. As they began a second circuit of the settlement, Imuruk realized she was no longer pointing out features or locations, that they were no longer speaking of the war, or the Scourge, or their crumbling society. They spoke of themselves, giving little pieces of their lives to each other in words.

"I missed the lichen," said Imuruk softly as they returned to the entrance. "The colour. The... the gentleness of the light." He looked back down the long corridor. "Have you ever seen the aurora?"

"No. What is it?" asked Anu'Shukhet.

"I confess I don't really know. Earthsinger tells me it's some natural phenomenon of energy and weather. But it looks like soft light, ribbons of it in the night sky. Usually when its very cold out, so cold it makes your exoskeleton brittle, and it moves..." His voice trailed off and he lowered his hands, containing their gestures. "I'd stand out there in the brutal cold because sometimes it was this colour, the same as the lichens."

Anu'Shukhet touched his elbow briefly. "I think I'd like to see that."

"It's hardly a worthy trade for my life and Earthsinger's. She saved me. She taught me. She didn't..." he sighed. "I'm sorry. I  _would_  like to be part of your kingdom but I'm... I think I've forgotten how to be a citizen."

"Forgotten?"

"I don't think I ever learned."

Anu'Shukhet nodded. "I suppose you didn't." They stood in silence together, blinking into the night beyond the mouth of the tunnel. The sky was clear and Anu'Shukhet could see a sprinkling of stars.

"Can I come back? To talk with you? Am I welcome?"

"Of course," said the King. "As far as I'm concerned, you  _are_  a citizen. You've every right to come and go. Or to remain."

**3\. The Lich King's Lament**

Jaina wrapped the cloak around her, pulling the thick fur up to her neck. She'd spoken briefly with the Troll huntress upon her return, just long enough to receive her disappointing message:  _no_. No, no, no. Emphatically no. Every messenger had brought her the same answer so far. No one wanted a partnership with the Lich King, or at least, not an official one. Jaina sighed. The wind slipped past the folds and ruffled her hair free of the collar. She tucked it back behind her ear.

The sun had set three hours before, and dark clouds had swept in from the east at almost the same time, bringing fits of snow on frigid wind. Jaina had found herself more restless than the weather, however, and had been roaming the high ramparts and balconies of the Citadel since the huntress had delivered her message. It wasn't just because her overtures of alliance were being systematically denied, it was being cooped up in the Citadel monotonously, with the days getter progressively shorter and darker. Jaina had spent months in the north up to Arthas' defeat, but they were spring and summer months, in places far enough south that the soil was frost free for long enough to grow more than lichens. She came from Kul Tiras, a rugged, coastal land that boasted all the combined bounty of land and sea. And until recently, she had considered Theramore her home. It was warm, humid, draped in lush flora, populated with more animal species than Jaina could count, and flooded with light.

She hugged herself and rubbed her arms to warm up, raising her gaze to the pin-point stars visible through brief gaps in the cloudbank. Since she had come to Northrend, Jaina had kept a silent theory that here, at the roof of the world, the stars were closer. They were definitely brighter. If she had voiced that thought, someone, perhaps Tirion, would have suggested it was more likely that the sprawling darkness simply made them more vivid.

Jaina turned when she heard the steady click-click-click of Dreilide's claws on the stone. The plague hound's tongue lolled out the side of his mouth happily and he thrust his damp nose into the palm of her hand when she held it out.

"Hi, dog," she said, and smiled despite her heavy mood. Dreilide licked her glove, then turned away, bat-like ears pricked towards something in the distance. Jaina looked where he was looking out of reflex. There was a tiny sound that Jaina couldn't immediately identify, high but sustained, then it dipped and hummed into nothing. Jaina frowned. It was a familiar sound, but she couldn't place it. She looked down at Dreilide.

"Shall we go have a look, then?"

They ambled along the rampart, Jaina hunching her shoulders as the wind picked up. She stopped twice to turn around and put her back to the gale, breathing into the fur that cupped her face to thaw her lips. They came into the lee of the Citadel as they rounded the corner. The wind relented, and the sound rose again, a long, mournful wail. The note simmered and then see-sawed back and forth, and Jaina chuckled.

"A fiddle? Out here in the freezing cold?" She put her gloved hands on the railing and leaned over, peering into the ice-fog. Three stories below, huddled against the dizzying height of the Citadel wall, were six figures gathered round a bonfire. Jaina identified the Troll huntress by the brilliant braids splayed over her shoulders. She was leaning against the shoulder of another Troll, laughing and gesturing with a cup of something steaming hot. The fiddler stood across the bonfire from the couple and though Jaina could only see the top of his head and shoulders, she knew it was Starkweather.

She'd seen no reason to keep the Death Knights locked up any longer. She knew their intentions toward her; they had lost the element of surprise. She'd also shown them that she could effectively defend herself. Kagra had growled, Xochi shrugged and refused to meet her gaze, but Starkweather had nodded and thanked her.

Now, he tapped one booted foot, fingers skittering up and down the neck of the instrument, undead reflexes immune to the effect of the cold. Beside him, the red-headed human woman with the hyena clapped a rhythm. The melody bounded in circles, teasing a grin to Jaina's lips, but she sighed, despite the song's playful tone. She couldn't join them. It would be too awkward, too inappropriate.

She turned away, putting her back to the railing and the cloudy night sky. She looked at her hands, in fur-lined gloves almost every day, and listened as Starkweather wove a joyful song into the keening wind. He finished, to the applause of those gathered, and started another tune. Jaina heard boots shuffling and stomping. The Death Knight played faster, to the appreciation of the dancers, and Jaina wondered where he had gotten the fiddle. Was it his? Had he, upon resurrection in thrall of the Lich King, returned to whichever camp had once been his and retrieved it? Or had he stolen it? He played well and he played easily; she had to decide that it was his own instrument.

How little she knew about any of them. She had never asked the Death Knights personal questions, especially after she found out they wanted her dead. The things she did learn about her new comrades were hardly ever the result of direct curiosity; not Imuruk's culinary skills, or Kazimir's patient instruction, or Dreilide's devotion. They demonstrated their personalities, whether she asked or not, like any autonomous people.

In Theramore, she had prided herself on knowing the names of her citizens, of remembering sons and daughters, personal interests and crises. She sent notes of sympathy and congratulations, and when her schedule was open, she attended weddings and parties and funerals.  _Martin Starkweather plays the fiddle._ Hesitantly, Jaina allowed herself to file the fact away. She shivered inside the cloak and pushed away from the railing. If she walked along the rampart, the movement would warm her and she could stay within earshot of Starkweather's performance.

Jaina strolled, listening to Starkweather play energetic, joyful tunes. As she walked, she stared at the stars, humming to herself. There was a sort of glowing green mist in the northwest. It shivered and undulated as she watched, gaining discernible edges along the top, growing brighter in the middle. It hung like a ghostly curtain, lowest tips rippling lazily across the stars. Then it shifted, writhing like a serpent, and the brightness diffused to the edges. Jaina stared, awed, as the aurora wound and stretched, flickering and fading in no earthly rhythm. Once the eastern end turned crimson and Jaina gasped, eyes round with childish wonder. Tirion had told her about it one night, but they'd never managed to see it. His description was, she realized now, technically accurate, but there weren't words to convey the breath-taking, eldritch spectacle in motion before her. It mesmerized her, and she forgot about the cold and the snow and the piercing wind for almost twenty minutes, and then it was gone.

She continued her walk, trying to replay the vision, but it was intangible, so instead she savoured the feeling of awe and joy it brought. Eventually, Jaina found herself back where she started. Starkweather paused, letting the rest of the group take a breather. There were twice as many people down there now as there had been and even three stories up, she could tell someone had brought ale. Jaina sat down, back against the railing, Dreilide's chin resting on her boot, fleeting streamers of light moving in her mind's eye.

Starkweather drew a long, sorrowful moan from the fiddle and Jaina knew this wasn't going to be a reel. The Death Knight played on, notes mixing with the ice-ridden wind. The instrument whimpered and wailed, begging for solace, for completion, for life and love, and comfort. Jaina heard her own story in wordless skeins of sound. She plunged into memory, eyes brimming with tears, and struggled not to cry as the fiddle's voice swelled with yearning and loss and heart-ache. She bit her lip as the music rose and fell, one moment rising with hope, the next careening into fear and dismay and plans gone wrong. Jaina gave up and sobbed into her gloves.

There was a muffled sound in counterpoint and she looked up, finding Dreilide's ugly snout filling her vision. She blinked and wiped her eyes.

"I'm okay," she assured the animal. "Stupid violin." Starkweather was still playing, but the instrument had lost its grip on her. Jaina stood up and wandered away with a deep sigh. "I just miss him," she said to the plague hound. "And I know it's stupid and he wasn't the same person I remember, but... he was... my friend."

 _He was my friend_. Jaina knew it was just her thoughts echoing her statement, but it seemed almost as though that particular thought wasn't hers alone.

_I miss him._

"I miss him a lot." Jaina shook off the eerie echo and scratched Dreilide's head. "Enough of this moping around, right? I've got an empire to build." She yawned. "In the morning."


	8. Good Intentions

The temperature had plummeted. Night moved in and brought with it a toneless wind that blew streamers of hard snow across their path. Kel'Thuzad had little trouble navigating the terrain; he'd quickly given up walking and reverted to levitation. Imuruk's long legs kept him from getting too enmeshed in the more impressive drifts, but he had to lift them high and drag them through resistant, wind-packed ice until he was wheezing from exertion. He was either too stubborn, or too afraid of freezing, to stop and rest.

Kel'Thuzad watched the shaman, crimson eyes calculating as Imuruk stumbled and caught himself, struggling to regain his footing.  _Why should I bother waiting for him? I didn't ask him to come along._ There was no real annoyance in the thought.  _Why did he accompany me? He must know how dangerous this is..._  In truth, Kel'Thuzad had become so used to Imuruk following him around that he hadn't given real thought to the situation either.

He was alone in the desolate middle of nowhere with the one person who knew his true identity.

Kel'Thuzad faced Imuruk, separated by meters, and pondered this fact.  _I could blame the weather,_  he mused.  _It wouldn't be so hard to believe, that he died of hypothermia, or a mis-step._  Kel'Thuzad flexed his fingers experimentally as Imuruk plowed toward him, heedless of his murderous contemplations.

"You don't need to wait for me," panted the shaman as he reached his companion, but he seemed grateful nonetheless.

"I wasn't," replied Kel'Thuzad as he set off again, snow swirling around his floating feet.

"Thank you," rasped Imuruk, "Anyway, tell me more about this 'New Scourge' your King is set on forging. I assume she named it after the Orcish Warchief's 'New Horde'."

"Probably. They were friends, I believe."  _I should have killed him in the beginning, when he threatened me. There isn't much point in doing it now; another month or more and I won't be able to maintain this disguise any longer._ It made Kel'Thuzad feel a little guilty. Hadn't he just recently reduced nine of his most loyal soldiers to dust to protect himself? Surely they were more valuable to him than this one peculiar insect. But although Imuruk was not his to command and owed him no loyalty, neither had he done anything to jeopardize the lich's plans.

Imuruk stopped finally, sides heaving. Steam rose off him.  _One frostbolt,_ thought Kel'Thuzad, _he wouldn't even feel it._

"What do you think of this plan?" asked the shaman, blissfully ignorant.

"What?"

"What do you think of Lady Jaina's Scourge?"

The lich pondered the question.  _What place could I have in such an alliance? Lady Jaina will want to be diplomatic, to be polite and politically correct._  "I agree that her power demands a kingdom. How she accomplishes it and how she rules it are not my place to say," he answered finally. "I imagine it is similar for you, as an advisor to your own king."

Imuruk clicked his mandibles. "Advisor? No. I'll scry for her if she asks, or seek answers through the spirits, but not in any official capacity. She's my mate, my lover. I suppose you don't understand that, though."

"Understand what?"

"Loyalty beyond station. Love. Don't the Scourge spells remove a lich's emotions?"

"Yes, everything but the extremes... how do you know that?"

"Spirits talk. I think that's pitiful."

"Why? It makes them better sorcerers, focuses their power."

"But you-"

"I wasn't made with Scourge spells, shaman. I was reborn in the Sunwell, wrought of ancient magic, and I have none of the limitations and imperfections of the Scourge's other,  _lesser_  liches." Kel'Thuzad spoke more heatedly than he intended and bit off the sentence with a sense of indignance. "I simply see no use for affection. It skews rational thinking, creates liabilities, and makes logical people do foolish things."  _Like refuse to let a single, replaceable plague hound come to harm at risk to one's own life. Or let a useless insect live with a damaging secret? Good lord, is her compassion contagious?_

Or, with Arthas as Lich King, had Kel'Thuzad been mirroring  _his_  values? Arthas believed in cruelty, sadism, and despair as weapons because they were what he had feared most as a mortal human paladin. He had instilled those qualities in the Scourge, drawn out people who reveled in them, wound them into the very spells he used to command his legions, and Kel'Thuzad had learned them too, in faithful service to his king. The lich felt a rising sense of panic.  _Am I so bound to that entity that I've lost my own will?_ It was an uncomfortable, frightening, humiliating possibility for him.

"Doesn't that leave you with a rather large blind-spot, so to speak?" Imuruk pondered, interrupting his thoughts. "I mean, tactically. You could parse out every potential move an enemy might make but you can't account for friendships, or family loyalty, or love, can you?"

"Rubbish. Just because I don't put stock in it doesn't mean I can't see when others do. Only a fool leaves such elements out of their plans. Oh, hello there." Kel'Thuzad stopped abruptly and melted the snow beneath his feet with a carefully-sized fireball. Frozen beneath was the corpse of a young elk, no more than two seasons old, dead by exposure and preserved by the cold.

"But," continued Imuruk, coming to stand beside him, "you can't really  _see_  a thing unless you understand it. Like- like Earthsinger's ice and snow. I didn't understand there were different kinds until she explained their properties and showed me examples. I'd seen them all my life, but I didn't really  _understand,_ I had no words for them, so they didn't  _exist_. If you can see the bonds between others, then you must understand them."

Kel'Thuzad rounded on his companion, eyes flaring with worry for his autonomy and a general dislike of being contradicted. "Enough!" he said. "Let it go!" Imuruk flinched and peeked into the hole.

"What lovely silver fur. Must've been out here during that first storm of the fall. He's still got his antlers on. Do you suppose he's light enough to drag all the way back to the Citadel?"

Kel'Thuzad stooped to tie one end of the coarse sackcloth he brought around the elk's hocks. He tore the thick fabric down the middle and held out one half to Imuruk.

"We'll find out."

* * *

Jaina was rather proud of herself. When Kazimir and Imuruk had returned to the Citadel that morning, hauling a dead elk behind them, she had balked at the idea of spoiling the beautiful animal by dissecting it. Kazimir had given her a polite but stern lecture on the need to familiarize herself not only with basic anatomy but with the aspect of death itself. Jaina accepted his logic and grudgingly took up the knife he offered.

Skinning the elk had been exponentially more work than the rat. Kazimir helped and Jaina learned that the evil-looking three-hooked chain was actually used to secure whatever part she was working on to the table so it didn't move. Kazimir let her take a few minutes rest afterwards.

"You must have taught a little bit at the Scholomance," she smiled, watching him inspect her work. "You've got that look my teachers in Dalaran had when they were evaluating our projects."

"A little," he said, "Basics such as this."

Jaina worked all afternoon, carefully removing superficial muscles, naming their functions for her attentive instructor, then moved on to the deep muscles and organs. Veins and arteries went too, and the vagus nerve almost joined them before Kazimir grabbed her over-enthusiastic scalpel-hand. By the time she had the corpse down to its skeleton, she was tired and perversely hungry.

Kazimir had taken the muscles Jaina removed and left to distribute them to Dreilide, so she washed her hands and made lunch alone. As she was cleaning up, Kazimir rushed into the kitchen.

"Lady King," he said, tone full of foreboding, "there is a messenger at the entrance. She will speak to none but you and... I think you should be careful." Jaina furrowed her brow and followed him.

Eerie silence greeted her. There was a smattering of adventurers in wary knots on the rampart, and a patrol of three Nerubian warriors, all alert and gripping their spears. At the center of their attention was a proto-drake, a sickly, harnessed, drooling proto-drake bearing a fur-clad Vrykul woman on its bowed back. As soon as she saw Jaina, the woman began to laugh.

"This?  _This_  is what we should bow to?" Out of the corner of her eye, Jaina saw Kazimir tense, fingers curling into bony fists.

"Peace," she whispered, and looked up at the woman. "I am Jaina Proudmoore, King of the Scourge," she said, putting some steel into her voice to match the quality of the Vrykul's. "State your business in my domain."

"Your domain. Ha! My business is this," snarled the woman and hurled something to the floor at Jaina's feet. At first, it didn't register what the object was, but Jaina had just spent five hours carefully cutting apart a corpse, and she realized, in disjointed, horrified flashes of recognition that she was looking at a decapitated head.  _Oh Light! They killed the messenger!_

"Know this!" the herald continued, yanking the reins of her winded drake around so she could make eye contact with Jaina, "You are no king to us. You are a usurper, a pretender to the throne. Make alliance with  _you_? Fah! The Vrykul do not ally themselves with  _false gods_. You're no Lich King. You're a girl in a black cape, and we see through your lies." With a ruthless tug, the woman brought her mount around to face the gaping spectators.

"Any who would ally with this imposter are doomed along with her!" she bellowed, "The Vrykul reject your offer, and proclaim you and your comrades to be enemies of the tribes! You are  _not_  our death god, woman, and we will show you why." The herald spat, missing Jaina by several feet, and kicked her mount skyward. "You will die for your hubris, Jaina Proudmoore!" she threatened as the drake climbed laboriously into the sky. Jaina slapped Kazimir's rising hand down.

"Don't waste your mana."

"Hmph."

Secretly, she wouldn't have minded if the sorcerer blasted the herald out of the sky. Jaina swallowed and forced herself to look at the head on the floor. Examining a dead animal was one thing; there was distance between her and them, a distance of culture, of sentience, and the knowledge that neither the rat nor the elk had been killed  _because of her._

This woman had died because Jaina had asked her to take a message to the Vrykul. Jaina was directly responsible for her death. It wasn't like ordering troops into battle; they knew they might not come back. When the Draenei warrior, had brought his friends to Jaina, all of them had been willing to act as messengers, some out of curiosity, some out of duty, or financial need, or restlessness.

"I... I need to n-notify her husband," said Jaina faintly and knelt to scoop the awful thing into her arms, wrapping it in her scarf, trying not to look at the slack jaw and empty eye-sockets. "If they intend to make war, we need to," she swallowed, feeling too warm and abruptly nauseous, "we need to fortify the Citadel- oh Light, excuse me!" Jaina dropped the scarf and the head into Kazimir's startled hands and bolted for the kitchen.

She was still bent over the sink, retching, when the undead mage found her. She squeezed her eyes shut and leaned against the cool metal.

"What do you wish me to do, my King?" asked Kazimir quietly.

"I don't know," said Jaina. "I as good as murdered that poor woman. It was my idea- I should have gone instead. She- I think she had a child, Kazimir. I killed someone's mother!" Tears slid down her cheeks and Jaina sank to the floor, face in her hands. "What have I done... What am I doing?"

Kazimir left the wrapped head at the doorway and approached her. He crouched beside her. "What's done is done," he said evenly, "She was an adventurer. They choose that life knowing there are risks. And now we know where the Vrykul stand on your ascension. You're right. We need to fortify the Citadel, and  _you_  need to call the remaining Scourge back to defend it. Come," he said and held out a hand, "get up."

"But I... what am I going to tell her husband? He wanted to go with her..."

"Then it's a good thing he didn't go along. It's better to lose a mother than to be an orphan completely, isn't it? On your feet, Lady King." Jaina sniffled, but took his hand and let him pull her up. She wavered and steadied herself on the sink.

"You're right. It's awful to think, but..." She sniffed hard and wiped her eyes. "She deserves to rest in peace, and her husband deserves a chance to avenge her. Kazimir, you must know something of the Citadel's defenses. If there is a blueprint, or- or a map, please bring it to me."

"Yes, my King."

"Find out how many of the adventurers are still willing to fight for our gold. We need an army. I want to unite the North and I can't do that if no one thinks I can protect them. We need to show them that I am powerful."

"Very good, my King," said Kazimir with just a touch of real pride in his voice. Jaina looked up at him.

"Thank you," she said emphatically. Then she narrowed her eyes. "Kazimir, why are you wearing a glamour?"

"I confess my appearance has become… somewhat less than appealing recently."

"You mean you're…  _decaying_?"

"No, not exactly. I took some damage during the fight where I found you and it made me rather more gruesome than necessary."

"A healer can't fix it?"

"I'm afraid not."

She frowned, but this time out of worry. "I'm sorry," she said. Then she was gone, taking the scarf, and the head, with her.

It was painfully easy to locate the woman's husband. More than one adventurer had gotten a good look at what the Vrykul had thrown at Jaina and news of that kind traveled instantly. Jaina bit her lip. There was a loose crowd near, but not too near, a little blue and purple tent among the camp outside the Citadel. The gathered fighters watched her silently, some with expressions of simple sadness, but some glaring and she knew they blamed her as much as she blamed herself. Jaina avoided their eyes.

She paused at the door of the tent. It was tied shut and within, she could hear two voices, a man and a woman, speaking Darnassian. The woman murmured in sympathy and the man sobbed in anguish. Jaina steeled herself and tapped her finger against the flap.

"Please," rasped the man's voice, speaking Common, "just leave me alone." There was a rustle, and Jaina found herself face to face with Pelcyr, the Night Elf priestess who had healed the Death Knights.

"My Lady," said Pelcyr sadly, "let my brother grieve. Please."

"I... I came to say... I'm sorry. I caused this. Please, just tell him how- how truly- how truly sorry I am." Her lips quivered as she spoke the words and Pelcyr's yellow eyes were glossy.

"Yes," was all she said. Jaina seized her hand as the other woman turned to go.

"If there is anything I can do- ever- I- I owe you-" Pelcyr pulled her hand free and frowned.

"What do you think you can do? Put Tialla back together? Pay Medarion her weight in gold? My Lady, there is  _nothing_  you owe us. I will convey your sympathies; it is all you can do." Pelcyr turned away and slipped back into the tent.

Jaina stared after her, open-mouthed with devouring guilt and helplessness.  _She's right. There's nothing I can do. It's done._

Jaina didn't notice the stares and mutters as she trudged back to the Citadel. She barely noticed Dreilide slipping up beside her, or the cold wind that froze the back of her neck. She plodded straight to her chamber, closed the door, and stopped. She couldn't even make it to the bed; she simply collapsed with her back against the door, staring sightlessly at the opposite wall. She remained this way for several minutes.

_This is why Arthas did what he did,_ she thought.  _He didn't have enough strength, or power, or knowledge to protect others, so he went searching for more. And he found Frostmourne. It claimed his soul, it warped his personality, and it lead him to the Frozen Throne..._  Jaina hadn't known the full story until she had been confronted by Uther's spirit in the Halls of Reflection. Only then had she learned how truly  _final_ the change was that swallowed her old friend.

"Are those my only options? Spend my life watching others grieve because of my decisions, unable to protect them completely, or seek greater power and risk becoming a monster?" She slapped her open hand against the floor and felt she deserved the sting of pain. "I don't like either of those choices! I want a third option! I refuse to be hated, I refuse to be feared, and I  _refuse_ to let these bloody Vrykul intimidate perfectly innocent people!" Jaina rose abruptly in a flutter of skirts, more furious than she had ever been, and strode across the room, ignoring a rush of dizziness. Her slim hands were pale on the dark metal of the Helm. Without hesitation, she settled the armour over her head, welcoming the cool, misty vision it brought.  _There's clarity here, and raw magic. Magic itself is neither good nor evil,_ she recited,  _it depends on the will of the caster_.

She took a deep breath and closed her eyes, then let her awareness slowly expand outward from the Citadel. To her surprise, she found two gargoyles and a ghoul still within the building itself. Beyond, on the glacier, she found more, scattered here and there, alone and in groups, all wandering, all directionless. Jaina concentrated on the individual undead first. She hovered in their minds, identifying herself over and over. Some of them quickly accepted her presence. At first their ready obedience startled her since her previous experiences hadn't shown they were even aware of her.  _But I was hardly aware of what I was then. I understand it better now. I accept it._

Jaina let out a deep breath. The undead who listened to her, she directed back to the Citadel, sternly instructing them to harm  _no one_. Those which hesitated, or which she couldn't easily speak to, she rode with relentlessly, repeating herself until they listened:  _I am your King; I am your King; I am your King._

Three hours later, Kazimir approached her, visible through a thick veil of silver mist in her mind's eye and she drew back into herself. He offered her a heavy mug of steaming tea. She accepted it gratefully, suddenly aware of how weak she felt. The effort of just approaching the Scourge one by one was draining.

"They're listening, though," she told the undead mage earnestly, "Some of them take longer to hear me than others, but they're all listening." She blinked slowly, eyes gritty, and squared her shoulders. "Did you find the blueprints to the Citadel?"

"Not yet, my King. Arthas may have ordered them destroyed and the archives are a mess."

"Keep looking, please."

He nodded, then paused as she turned back to her task. Her eyes filled with frigid light that bled upwards in tendrils of steam, creeping from beneath the black embrace of the Helm.  _She doesn't know what she looks like. She looks like him, though not exactly. Arthas was all cold; cold flesh, cold ambitions. Jaina is something else, a successful combination of life and death with neither superior and no conflict. A balance._

Kel'Thuzad hurried off, seeking the archives, rolling the seed of an idea around in his mind. When he reached the Oratory, Anu'Shukhet stood at the center, watching while a crew of labourers worked to close the mouth of the tunnel. He stopped.

"My lord, what's happening?" he asked. The Spiderlord tapped one claw against the floor.

"The council agreed we would not stand by the Lady King as allies, and so we cannot. If there is to be war between the Vrykul and the Scourge, we will not take part in it." She eyed Kel'Thuzad shrewdly. "Tell your King I wish her luck." One of the labourers called and Anu'Shukhet turned, nodding. "Luck, mage," she repeated, then vanished down the tunnel, the workers following, sealing the way behind them.

Kel'Thuzad paused at the entrance of the Citadel, where the doors were being pulled slowly closed by six ghouls.  _That was fast. I wonder where they were hiding?_

_"_ Wait!" called a voice outside and Kel'Thuzad held up a hand. The ghouls halted. He moved to stand in the narrow column of light still showing between the massive gates, to see a brown-haired Tauren woman hurry towards the Citadel, pulling a tired Windrider along by its reins. Movement behind her caught his attention and out of the blowing snow swooped an enormous bird. If its size didn't give it away as a shape-changed druid, then the chipped horns curving up from its skull certainly did.

"How about him?" said the Tauren, pointing at Kel'Thuzad as the druid landed beside her, "He looks important." The bird shifted and became a second Tauren with stark black fur that made her appear even larger, and a muzzle that went grey right up to her eyes.

"Yes," said the black druid, "he's important."

"My name is Earthsinger," said the first Tauren in a rush, "I've come on behalf of the Taunka village where I work, to speak with the Lady King. They sent me to judge her, to see if she is as different as we hear. If she is, then she may well earn the allegiance of the Taunka clans." Earthsinger looked around, as though only now realizing the chaos she had come into: adventurers hastily collapsing tents, or sharpening weapons, windriders and gryphons taking to the stormy sky, undead filtering into the Citadel heedless of the living around them. "What's going on?"

"The Vrykul have killed the messenger Lady Jaina sent them, and declared war on her and her allies," said Kel'Thuzad evenly. The black druid gasped and her eyes widened. She turned without asking leave and disappeared into the swirling snow. Earthsinger squared her shoulders.

"Well, guess this is a pretty good test then, eh?"

* * *

Over the next weeks, Kel'Thuzad found himself once again at the right hand of the Lich King. With the Nerubians underground, Tirion Fordring and the other heroes banished from the Citadel, and the adventurers that chose to remain on uncertain terms with Jaina, he was all she had. He played his part flawlessly. He advised her on fortifications, helped organize the growing trickle of Scourge that Jaina had successfully summoned into work crews and patrols, found individuals suitable to captain each patrol, and brought her tea when he saw her strength flagging. Mostly this act was to remind her how much time had passed and she needed to eat and sleep. Such were the drawbacks to being alive..

"Thank you, Kazimir," she said tiredly, cupping the now-familiar mug between gloved hands. She hadn't been able to sleep more than three hours at a stretch since she had begun calling the scattered undead back to the Citadel. Kel'Thuzad knew why. She dreamed of Tialla, the murdered messenger, haunted by accusations her husband and child had never made. Once she dreamed it had been Tirion instead, dead because he had trusted her. She dreamed of strangers cursing her, and friends taking up arms against her. She was always alone.

After the third night, Kel'Thuzad wrapped his telepathic shield spells around her mind instead of his own while she slept, trying to block out the images and emotions. It was dangerous and it stretched his powers beyond the scope of his host body, but it dampened what reached him to an indistinct murmur.

"Kazimir, there are Scourge operatives in the Eastern Kingdoms still, and in Kalimdor, aren't there?" she asked. Kel'Thuzad nodded.

"As far as I know. They may have been killed, or ordered to retreat."

Jaina sat, pensive. "I've only ever tried contacting those in Northrend. I wonder if I can reach the ones on the other continents?"

"Arthas was capable of doing so. Naxxramas was stationed in the Plaguelands for years, with the Lich King's telepathy as its only contact."

"You're right. There's no reason I can't bring them  _all_  here, to Northrend. I know the people living on the mainlands would be happy to be free of them..."

"My Lady, before you try, might I suggest that you eat something?" Kel'Thuzad had seen what those powers could do to a living being as Arthas succumbed to Frostmourne's influence, and without sustenance, any magic-user would begin drawing on their own body for the catalytic energy necessary to put a spell in motion. Jaina could do herself irreversible damage if she tried magic of this scale in a weakened state.

"Yes, of course. Good idea," she replied and got slowly to her feet. Tea was one thing, but Kel'Thuzad was strictly forbidden from preparing her food- not that he particularly wanted the task anyway- so he set off to inspect the progress of the fortifications while she ate.

First, he'd ordered the entrance safeguarded. The Ashen Verdict had broken through the front doors using a battering ram, but the only real damage was to the hinges, the weakest point in their construction. Those had been repaired and improved by Starkweather and his architectural crew, so rather than reinforce the doors themselves, Jaina had decided to set up defenses inside and out. There were gargoyles circling in armed patrols outside, and a virtual wall of caltrops within, left behind courtesy of the Ashen Verdict.

There were foot patrols on every level of the ramparts, carrying bows and flares and, on Jaina's inspiration, annoyingly loud hand-bells to be rung upon attack. Fully three-quarters of the forces that had arrived so far were inside the Citadel, at strategic points where they could leave on a moments notice to assist their brethren. The troops on the ice did not keep to any formation, but milled in loose groups, making it difficult to ascertain their numbers and ranks.

Kel'Thuzad had located a handful of undead sorcerers who looked eerily like his host body, and Jaina had ordered them to dress like geists and lurk in the midst of these disorderly groups. An attacking force who thought they had run afoul of mere footsoldiers without command would be unpleasantly surprised.

Still, for all the vast numbers the Scourge had once encompassed, the army was small, numbering fewer than four hundred at the moment. Tirion Fordring's heroes and adventurers had successfully culled the bulk of their forces.

"I don't suppose the Highlord would deign to join us when the Vrykul descend," muttered Kel'Thuzad, finishing his inspection circuit around the base of the Citadel.

"Nh uhn," something mumbled, and the lich stopped.

"Did you speak to me?" he asked, cocking his head at a ghoul to his right. The ghoul nodded. It was missing most of its lower jaw and someone had done a deplorable job of innervating its right arm, which dangled uselessly at its side.

"I tlied," said the ghoul eagerly.

"Come with me," said Kel'Thuzad. "Lady Jaina will want to know if you have a name. Do you remember it, or shall I give you one?"

"Talsen," said the ghoul, carefully enunciating both syllables. It was a wretched, dilapidated specimen, but despite the hack-job on its arcane nervous system, it was alert and obedient. The shreds of red fabric around its shoulder and a few putrid locks of pale hair lead Kel'Thuzad to think it might once have been a Blood Elf.

"Very well," said Kel'Thuzad. He lead the ghoul down to the laboratory that he and Jaina had been using for her lessons. "Stay here, unless the Lady King calls for you," he instructed then hurried up to the kitchen.

Jaina was mechanically nibbling her way through a sandwich. Kel'Thuzad laced his fingers and rocked back on his heels.

"My King, are you interested in a simple, and useful, lesson in applied necromancy?"

She looked up, curious through her fatigue. "Now?"

"The opportunity presented itself."

Jaina glanced questioningly at Kel'Thuzad upon entering the laboratory and seeing the ghoul, who immediately dropped to its knees.

"Mathter," it gibbered and flattened itself against the floor.

"Oh!" said Jaina, startled, "I remember you! You were in my tent, months ago! You  _talked_  to me!"

"It's name is Talsen," said Kel'Thuzad, "and the deplorable state of its ambulatory spells is a splendid opportunity for practice. Stand up, you." The ghoul scrambled to its feet. Jaina took note of its slack arm.

"I've studied the spells. It looks like there's..." She held out one hand, eyes narrowed, concentrating on the frayed net of magic flickering through the ghoul. "It's like there's a knot at his shoulder, blocking the energy. Well, more like a dam. Should I break it?"

"Are you sure it's a dam?" said Kel'Thuzad patiently. Talsen twitched his gaze between the two.

Jaina furrowed her brow. "No- wait. It's a disconnect, a break. I can repair it."

"Show me."

Jaina paused. "The spell requires blood," she said with uncertainty, "Both to enact and to repair it." She went to the book, carefully laid on a lectern beside their laboratory table. Jaina flipped pages and smoothed them carefully, reading. "I can fix it," she said, shaking her head slowly, "but it needs the symbols written in fresh blood. I won't harm another creature to-"

Kel'Thuzad wordlessly held out a knife. Jaina swallowed audibly.

"I can't-"

"This is something that Arthas couldn't do," said Kel'Thuzad quietly, "because he was already dead."

Jaina looked at the ghoul, with its paralyzed limb and slack jaw. She  _knew_  how to fix it. She could see the delicate weave that supported it, understood how it was supposed to work, could read the sigil in the text that would make it functional. All it required was Jaina's blood.

"Just enough to bind the spell," she said wanly, and slowly took the knife from Kel'Thuzad. Jaina spent another minute studying the book, holding the naked dagger in both hands. He could see the thin sheen of sweat on her cheekbones, and hear the nervous acceleration of her heartbeat.

Then she wrapped her left hand around the blade, palm against the edge, and pulled.

"Light, it's sharp," she whispered, hurriedly setting the knife aside as blood welled from the wound in her palm. She dipped the tip of her index finger it into her cupped palm and glanced up at the ghoul. "Now don't move." With impeccable precision, she copied the sigil onto the ghoul's greying skin, brows knit in concentration. In truth, it wasn't the symbol itself that was required, but the volume of blood and the length of time spent applying it that mattered. Pausing momentarily, she brought her right hand up before her, hovering above Talsen's shoulder, and pulled at the threads of magic. They touched, excited by the heat of her blood, and meshed. Jaina held the contact until she was sure the weave was stable, then moved to his mangled jaw.

It took less than a minute to complete the repairs. The moment she was finished Kel'Thuzad pressed a wad of silk into her hand and bound it up. She watched, unprotesting.

"How is your arm?" she asked Talsen finally. The ghoul stretched, flexed both arms, and worked his jaw.

"It's perfect, Master," he said, surprised by his own voice. "It works! Thank you, my King." He finished with a stiff bow. Jaina nodded.

"You're welcome, Talsen. Please wait for me upstairs. I wish to speak with you, but I need to discuss some things with Kazimir first."

Talsen went. Kel'Thuzad thought he heard the ghoul trying to whistle before he moved out of ear-shot.

Jaina stared at her hand. "When I was reading that book," she began, "I assumed the spells wouldn't work without  _sacrifices_. I thought when it called for blood, it meant... it meant it had to be taken from the unwilling."

"For some spells, yes. But, my King, I think you will find that even those incantations which do require distasteful components might be circumvented by your unique situation." He sat down. "You are the Lich King, and alive, and those two truths give you certain advantages in necromancy, contrary though they are. I can't estimate what heights you could aspire to through research and experimentation, and you've just shown that results need not be achieved through torture."

Jaina looked from her bandaged hand to Kel'Thuzad. "You didn't know if that would work, did you?"

He shook his head. "No, not completely, although I saw no logical reason why it shouldn't. And it did. And that is..." He gestured helplessly, at a loss for words.  _Jaina is a living demi-god necromancer, with no need to spill any blood but her own, and the desire for exactly that. Our history of necromancy is steeped in gore and terror, and so that is how it was always taught. But this…!._ If Kel'Thuzad had retained a heart, it would have been racing with excitement.  _I have no idea what she might be capable of, and that is exhilarating._

She looked at her hand. "That barely hurt. It's too bad I can't heal myself."  _Then it would be perfect._

"Well," he replied, and stood to peer at the book, flipping pages, possibilities tumbling through his imagination, "I sharpened the blade."

"Next time though," she said as she moved to return to her summoning, "I would appreciate it if you explained the procedure to me first. Especially if it's experimental?"

Kel'Thuzad nodded. "Yes, of course, my King. I will. My apologies."

"No harm done," she said and left Kel'Thuzad staring at the tome of dark magic with an expression of scholastic glee that no one could see.

* * *

Following breakfast, a quick meeting with Kazimir, then her new Scourge captains, then the guilty pleasure of throwing snowballs for Dreilide in the courtyard, Jaina marched up to the remains of the Frozen Throne and donned the Helm. She navigated the far-flung minds of the Scourge much more easily now, her consciousness snapping from one to the next. Her confidence made them almost instantly tractable, and she rarely spent more than a few seconds relaying her summons.

Despite the growing ease with which she could reach the Scourge, it didn't decrease the amount of time she spent sitting motionless with her back to the broken shards of ice, bundled up comfortably in furs and quilted layers, reaching out to them. Touching their minds did not seem so unbearably awful any longer. They did not seem so bleak or evil, only confused and dull and mean.

Part of her comfort came from her interactions with Kazimir. Since she had used her own blood to repair the ghoul four days ago, Jaina had made a point of spending two hours each day poring over the book of necromancy, re-interpreting the spells with Kazimir. Whatever sort of training the Scourge mage claimed to have, he was clearly being modest. At first, she had ascribed his cleverness to a superior knowledge of necromancy, but it was rapidly becoming clear that he had the same breadth and depth of arcane foundation as Jaina. Part of her was wary of this deception by omission. Most of her was glad she had a mind of equal intelligence to ponder the spells with.

Now she sat alone, purposefully guiding her inner sight towards the rim of Sholazar Basin. She hadn't yet searched the area and recalled that the Scourge had broken through the northern limits of the unique region. She followed a lumbering wight down the path of an avalanche. The snow had melted in the warmth of the Basin and the avalanche path had turned to a mire, sucking at the brute's bare feet. It acknowledged her presence in its mind by halting, sliding a few inches downhill, then turning on her suggestion and beginning a laborious climb back out of the jungle lowland.

Jaina continued on. She had found nine undead and encouraged them to return to the Citadel when she happened on a skirmish, through the sight of a skeletal warrior. A squat, furry creature with a spear roared in defiance and launched itself with unexpected energy at a figure approaching through the smoke of a burning hut. She knew about the enmity between the tribes of Wolvar and Gorlocs in the Basin, and at first assumed she was witnessing one of their quarrels.

Then she saw the Vvrykul battle-maiden.

"What..." whispered Jaina. For their diminutive size, the Wolvar were holding their own against the Vrykul warriors. Swords and axes met fire-hardened spears and stone maces. Jaina watched, dumbfounded for a moment.  _What could the Wolvar have done to antagonize the Vrykul? Their tribes are practically a continent apart!_  She observed, wincing as two feisty Wolvar were thrown off the battle-maiden's shield against the ground. There was a loud boom, and Jaina urged the skeleton to turn. Two of the Wolvar's little domed huts were torn open and vigorously ablaze. Shocked, Jaina watched a number of those fighting throw down their weapons and bolt  _into_  the fires, bellowing unintelligible words, to emerge from the smoking ruins clutching dark bundles of screeching, terrified fur.  _They're babies! Cubs!_

The battle-maiden raised her sword, eyes locked on an oblivious Wolvar running straight for her with a cub under each arm. Jaina reacted without thinking. Instantly, she had full control of the warrior, reaching for a rotting scabbard that held a rusty blade. She drew it with a yowl of fury, and charged the surprised battle-maiden. The Wolvar rescuer sprinted past, heedless of its averted demise.

Jaina had never really, honestly fought with a weapon. She play-fought with her older brothers, and with Arthas, but there came a point when they would let her win. The battle-maiden had no such intention. Jaina drew back from the skeleton, ordering it to fight, since it likely knew better than she how to do that. It did. They duelled for several seconds until the battle-maiden effortlessly sliced the skeleton in two. Jaina flinched, though there was no pain. Desperately, she groped about herself for another soldier. She found several.

_The messenger I sent to the Wolvar came back with a hearty negative, but they welcomed him, they joked with him, they gave him food and way too much ale, and let their little ones hear his stories._  The Troll who returned from the Frenzyheart tribe was smiling when he shook his head.

"Lady King," chuckled the grizzled shaman, "Dey say no, but I tink dey say no ta everyt'ing at first."

_Just because they declined an alliance_ doesn't _mean I can't protect them!_  Jaina clenched her jaw and spread her awareness out, keeping it anchored in the group of Scourge coalescing on her original location. She found others, and struggled to speak to them simultaneously. It worked. She was building a little defensive squad!

Above, she found a gargoyle and surveyed what she could of the situation. There was smoke everywhere from burning huts. It was impossible to tell the numbers of the Vrykul, but the Wolvar that were carrying cubs away from the battle all headed towards the lake.

"My King, what are you doing?" Her vision thinned and wobbled abruptly, and Jaina looked up to find Kazimir peering down at her. Although his expressions were unreadable, she could sense his alarm.

"The Vrykul are attacking the Frenzyheart Wolvar," she gasped out, holding her little troop together, bidding them greet the Vrykul with violence now. "There are Scourge in the Basin- I'm directing them to defend the tribe."

"Jaina, your nose is bleeding. You aren't ready to direct the Scourge in numbers yet, not from this distance."

She wiped at her nose in irritation and her fingers came away red. "Well, I'm not leaving them. I hate resorting to  _violence_ , but the Vrykul won't listen to  _reason_." She rose dizzily, vision fading back and forth between the Frozen Throne and the Basin. "We will go to them." She spurred her undead warriors to attack the Vrykul, and  _only_  the Vrykul, then halved her concentration, and opened a portal. Through it, she could see the lake margin.

"My King, is this wise?"

"Perhaps not," she replied and grabbed his wrist, "but it is  _right_." She stepped through and Kazimir didn't resist. The portal closed behind them. Immediately, Jaina was inundated with heat and noise and the smell of green growing things and wet fur and burning wood. Her connection with the undead tripled with proximity.  _Fight!_

The Wolvar stared at her and Kazimir in confusion, but weapons began to rise.

"No!" she said hastily, waving her hands, "We're here to help, to defend you! Just here to help!" Gradually, the spears lowered. "That's better. Your village is that way?" she pointed in the direction of the darkest smoke. One of the small, chubby creatures stepped forward.

"Orchid is smartest of her tribe!" declared the Wolvar, "Orchid hears that Lich King want to ally with great Wolvar tribes, but Orchid's chief too stupid to say yes. Orchid smack chief, but he not change mind, say him afraid of Lich King." The Wolvar squinted bright blue eyes at Jaina and bared her teeth in a disturbing smile. "Orchid not afraid of Lich King. Chief say Orchid should be, but Orchid smartest of her tribe. You _different_ Lich King than big, metal man. You little human woman. You bleed," said Orchid and pointed to Jaina's hand, smeared with crimson from her nose.

"Yes," was all she managed to say before the Wolvar interrupted her.

"Orchid is right! Orchid smartest of her tribe!" Then Orchid turned and bounded back into the fray on all fours, roaring like a mad bear.

"All right," said Jaina, blinking. "Let's go be heroes."

As she and Kazimir trotted through the smoke in an attempt to join up with the small band of Jaina's warriors, all she saw was devastation and Vrykul. They saw her too, and they were not pleased.

"Usurper!" bellowed an enormous bearded man whirling a morning star in one hand. He charged. Jaina speared him through the chest with a frostbolt. They continued on.

"How many of them are there?" asked Kazimir grimly, blasting a Vrykul enchanter off his feet. Jaina paused, slipping into the eyes of the circling gargoyle.

"Not sure. It can't be many; they're all in the village and the village is small. Maybe twenty-five."

Almost as soon as she said it, a wild, unnatural wind billowed up, whipping embers and leaves and dust back into Jaina's face. She spat out sand and squinted- and froze. At the center of the village, in rank upon kneeling, hidden rank, were more than sixty fresh Vrykul warriors. The shimmering void of a portal was just fading out of existence under the hands of a sour-faced sorceress. Jaina counted them twice, unbelieving.

"They planned this," she whispered. "It's an ambush!"

"Dammit!" snarled Kazimir with a savagery that startled her. "Flee, my King! Teleport!"

"But the Wolvar-" she argued, "-if we leave, they'll be slaughtered! No," she scurried backwards as the Vrykul stood, readying swords and spells, "no, we'll go to the lake, make a portal, send the Wolvar to safety. We can hold them off- I hope- while the Wolvar escape. Come on!" They ran, Jaina throwing up wall after wall of ice behind them as arrows and fireballs streaked after them. They burst out of the underbrush and skidded to a halt. The gathered Wolvar eyed her suspiciously.

"The Vrykul are here for me," she shouted, breathless, "I'll make you a portal to- to Wyrmrest Temple. It's as close as I know to another of your tribes." Swiftly, Jaina imagined the circular tower, the smell of ancient magic and the endless fields of silent ice. The portal opened. "Go! Please!"

"This a trick?" asked one of the warriors.

"No trick! I like Frenzyheart!" she called. "Go! All of you, just go!"

They were not convinced until the bulk of the Vrykul forces emerged from the trees, marching with grim purpose, not needing to run or sneak up on their prey. The Wolvar were not stupid. They scrambled for the portal.

"There's still more Wolvar out there," said Jaina through clenched teeth, ordering what remained of her soldiers to attack the Vrykul from the rear. It probably wouldn't buy them much time, but she hoped it would at least aggravate the Vrykul a little. "It's me they want! We've got to draw them away from the portal!" she shouted, and then the world descended into chaos.

They attacked en masse, mages and archers and warriors all at once, and Jaina screamed and threw up the thickest ice wall she could summon. Fire melted it, arrows chipped at it, howling berserkers scaled it. Suddenly she was back to back with Kazimir, flinging ice and fire with both hands. She teleported a group of warriors to the top of the avalanche. She cast a frostbolt that travelled through three people before it shattered against a tree trunk. In the heat of the moment, every move was precise, every spell connected, and every undead thing in a ten kilometer radius bayed for Vrykul blood. The white mist of the Helm crystallized her focus to devastating effect, but Jaina had been weary before the battle began. There were so many of them, and there was only one of her.

Her breath was ragged although she had hardly moved from where she stood. Sweat soaked through her quilted coat at the throat and armpits. The Helm was cool, but it was the only relief she had from the sudden, overwhelming heat of the jungle and the fires and her ceaseless spell-casting. She snarled at her rising weakness, her fevered blood, and balled her hands into fists. Deep inside her mind, something cold and alien woke, and Jaina faltered.

_Oh Light, no! What is-?_  The blow knocked her back into Kazimir and Jaina was off-balance, casting a wall of flame with both hands, reeling from the strike as the undead mage set her back on her feet.  _If I wasn't wearing the Helm, that would've split my face._

"My King! You  _must_ retreat! Go through the portal and close it!" shouted Kazimir.  _He's definitely better at this than he says,_  she mused, detached by the fear and the blow to her head,  _if he was any less talented than I, he would have died by now._  Perplexed and concussed, Jaina turned to glimpse Kazimir from the corner of her eye. He held one hand aloft, directing a concentrated blizzard of razor-sharp ice to keep the warriors at bay. With the other he aimed frostbolts against the ranged combatants, and then, as she half-watched, his entire form seemed to flicker.

Something had struck him, some piece of debris churned up in the chaos. It disrupted his concentration very briefly, but enough that it made the glamour he wore falter for a moment.

"Kazimir," she panted, gathering up another triad of Vrykul with her teleport spell and heaving them up the avalanche, "you said you were wearing the glamour because you got hurt, right?"

"To spare you the horror of my true appearance," he replied. Jaina dodged aside as some frustrated berserker threw his claymore at her. "My King, you must retreat. You're exhausted, and you are their target."

Her breath tasted like blood. "They'll kill you," she coughed, "you can't fight this many people by yourself!" In reply, he solidified his blizzard into a sparkling wall, grabbed her collar with one hand, gestured with the other, then shoved her at the eddying magic of a brand-new portal.

"You're no nameless minion," she breathed, eyes widening.

He turned to face her, indifferent to the threat at his back, and gazed down. "I apologize, my King." Jaina shook her head.

"What do you mean?" she said angrily, unnerved by his sudden deadly calm.

"I have intentionally deceived you," he said. "I am not sorry that I did it, but I am sorry for what that deception will mean to you. Retreat, Jaina.  _Now._ "

"No!" she yelled, and grabbed at him with her will, "You'll die! I  **order**  you to come with me! You can't deny me!"

"Yes, I can."

The battle raging around them faded into muted noise and motion. Jaina tried to draw a breath but it wouldn't come. "But...  _none_  of the Scourge could deny me, except- no! No!" she choked, denying this truth as hard and helplessly as she had at her ascension as the Lich King. " _No!_  You can't be-!"

Kazimir turned away from her, letting the glamour burst apart, and his unleashed power roared around him in a column that warped the air. The red cloak vanished. His hands lengthened. The Vrykul balked. The threatening aura around him increased exponentially, wave upon wave of practiced, deadly, ruthless magic, and he moved towards them, a low chuckle building as he spread his taloned hands in welcome, panels of violet fabric forming from slivers of pure, seething magic, glittering chains joining link by link to circle him in deadly orbits.

The lich turned and looked over his shoulder. "Retreat, Jaina," he hissed, scarlet eyes burning with bloodlust, and finally she stumbled backwards, speechless, unable to tear her gaze away from the man she had truly grown to trust.

"...Kel'Thuzad."


	9. A Crack in Everything

" _There is a crack in everything_

_That's how the light gets in..."_

_-Leonard Cohen,_ Anthem

Jaina staggered backwards, reeling from shock and heat exhaustion and noise, and pulled in a long, stuttering breath.

"You tricked me," she murmured, although she could barely hear herself in the growing cacophony of Kel'Thuzad unleashed, "You lied to me. You made me trustyou." She flicked a stray arrow out of the air with a sub-conscious gesture.  _What do I do now? Should I run? What if he dies? He can't die. Should I stay? Should I fight them? Or him? Or both? Or-_

"Jaina! Get out of here!" bellowed the lich. Jaina jumped. She could barely see him, surrounded as he was with armoured figures and water vapour and fire and snow and blood, but she could feel his magic, and sense abrupt licks of emotion. Jaina rolled up her sleeves.

"No," she yelled back, "You've got some explaining to do!" Her hands were shaking with fatigue already but Jaina forced herself to focus, drawing strength from the comforting cold of the Helm, and added her own deadly blizzard to the battle. She divided her attention, sustaining the spell while conjuring another, intending to put a frostbolt through an especially large Vrykul berserker who had broken off and headed toward her.

Instead, there was a hollow hum that seemed to emanate from inside her mind, a wrenching sensation in her chest, and something  _not_  a frostbolt burst into existence in the palm of her hand. Jaina's concentration wavered and the blizzard subsided. She stared at the orb of cold she had created.  _What is this?_  But she _knew_  what it was and how to create it and what it would do. Hadn't she always known?

Jaina let the sphere go, horrified without knowing why, and it rolled, sparkling with lethal cold until it reached the Vrykul. It exploded, splattering him over his comrades behind him and throwing a number of them down, stunned, in the mud. Jaina stared, trembling. She heard Kel'Thuzad laugh, raucous and triumphant. A length of chain arced out of the fray, coiled around one of the dazed combatants, and hauled the woman to her feet. The next second, she turned on her disoriented companions.

_If you won't leave, then distract them for a moment._

**No! Why?**

_I need to even the odds._  Jaina recoiled from the telepathy, although it felt little different than the other undead she spoke with mind-to-mind.

**You want them to kill me** , she accused.

_The Lich King isn't a passive thing, Jaina! It won't let you die so easily. See what it just did? You've bonded enough to it now, learned enough, that it values you as a vessel and it doesn't want you damaged._  His voice was rushed and impatient, but honest. His words made the hair at the back of her neck stand up.  _It won't let me die?_  she thought.  _It can control me?_  She had tried to summon a frostbolt and instead ended up with an exploding sphere of ice.

**What are you going to do?**

_Raise their dead against them,_  Kel'Thuzad replied irritably, as though this was the most obvious course of action, which it probably was to him.

**How much time do you need?**

_Seconds. But I need to concentrate._

**Fine.**  Jaina set her jaw and began to re-cast her blizzard. The cold of the Helm that she had found so relieving became suddenly agonizing, as though the armour itself had contracted, clutching her jaw and temples with inexorable force, the metal so cold it burned against her cheeks and the nape of her neck. Jaina choked out a sob; the Helm loosened and she found herself on her knees, eyes swimming with partially solidified tears. All around her was white. At first she thought she was losing consciousness, but realized there was motion and shadow to the chaos. This wasn't her blizzard; this was something much worse. Jaina yanked the cloak close around her, more worried now about what she had created than the Vrykul lost somewhere in the frigid hell.

As quickly as the storm had come up, it dissipated. Jaina blinked the frost off her lashes, gawking at the scene around her. The Vrykul were frozen, some literally, some figuratively, by the spell.

_That was most impressive, my King_. Kel'Thuzad's clothes were rimed in frost, already melting.

The downed Vrykul twitched and groaned, and began to rise in unison, turning empty, hungry eyes on their kin. Jaina struggled to get to her feet as well, simultaneously chilled and feverish, bone tired and frightened and betrayed. She watched as the Vrykul fought to their last, quickly overwhelmed by their own forces now in the hands of Kel'Thuzad, and remembered the awful terror of meeting a face in battle that she recognized, but that no longer knew her. She looked away, shuddering.

"Did you come here to kill me?" she asked finally, when the only sounds that remained were the creak of reanimated Vrykul armour and the distant crackle of burning Wolvar huts. Jaina and Kel'Thuzad approached each other warily.

"No, my King," he replied, "not unless I had to." They eyed each other, the distance separating them speaking volumes. He didn't trust her now any more than she trusted him.

"Why, then?  _Why?_  Did you think I would succumb, as Arthas did? Did you think you could train me to be him? To be  _you_?" she demanded, struggling to stay standing as fatigue pulled on every muscle.

"I came to assist my King, to offer guidance and training."

"To what end!" she shouted.

"To such end that you might not be driven mad by the powers of the Lich King"

"You're lying," spat Jaina, "What do you really want?"

"What do I gain by lying to you?" hissed the lich, "What better reason do you need?"

"One that I can believe!"

"I came to teach you! I came to show you the black arts Dalaran would never let you glimpse, to coax you into wicked magic, until you might be moved to accept myself and the Cult of the Damned, rather than destroy us. I came to corrupt you as I corrupted Arthas, for certainly his path wasn't  _already_  darkening, was it?"

"How dare you," she whispered and took a step towards him. Kel'Thuzad answered the challenge, drifting forward by centimeters.

"I've watched you dream for three months. I've heard every whine and whisper, and I  _know_  you never accepted that  _Arthas was the Lich King._  You'd like to blame someone else for the terrible things he did so you don't have to blame yourself for abandoning him."

Jaina stabbed a finger at the lich, all fury and no fear. "I didn't abandon him!  _He abandoned me!_  I loved him, but that wasn't enough!"

"You say that, but you don't believe it. You think maybe if you'd been  _better_ , maybe if you'd been  _stronger_ , maybe if-"

Kel'Thuzad had come within arms' reach, towering over her, and Jaina stretched up, snatched a handful of chain and yanked violently. She looped the links around her forearm and hauled until they were face to face, Kel'Thuzad bent awkwardly to accommodate the position.

"You're a traitor. You're a murderer. You're a lying, conniving, evil bastard, and you should have stayed dead when Arthas killed you. I'm going to make sure you get what's coming to you," she snarled.

"You could never have loved him enough to fill that void in him. It wasn't love he needed."

"Why are you saying this?" she demanded, exasperated.

"Because it's true. Arthas was too paranoid to listen to good advice, yours, mine or anyone else's. You are not the King I was expecting, Jaina but- Jaina, let go of me, I'm not going anywhere." Reluctantly, she released the chains. "But I'm bound to the Lich King, no matter who that is, whether I like it or not. I must serve you. I can train you and I can explain things that no one else can. Yes, I came to you with the intention of influencing your morals-"

"Oh, that's a diplomatic way of putting it."

"-but I'm no fool. Three months is ample time to realize that I can't change how you think. You proved that with every decision you've made, from sparing me, to trying to forge this ludicrous alliance with everything on the continent, to running off unprepared to rescue a bunch of undeserving half-witted weasels."

Jaina rubbed her eyes and sighed. "As lovely as this sounds, you're missing the point."

"Which is?"

"You will be tried for your crimes against Azeroth, you will be found guilty, and you will be punished."

"What crime? Seeking knowledge the simple minds in Dalaran couldn't fathom-"

"Killing hundreds of people! Poisoning Lordaeron! Corrupting Stratholme! Terrorizing Stormwind and Orgrimmar! Leading the Scourge into Dalaran and killing my mentor! What crimes? Kel'Thuzad! You don't even  _acknowledge_  what you've done! Were you  _ever_  human?"

The lich pulled back, affronted. "I was human for far too long."

Jaina shook her head and sat down, all the fury gone from her. "I thought I could understand Kazimir Frostblood. I thought  _maybe_  I could see why he did the things he did, but I can't understand you. You're a monster and you don't even know it."

Kel'Thuzad gazed down at her, crimson eyes impassive. "What will you do?"

"Lock you up, I guess. Until we find your phylactery, there's no point in executing you."

The lich folded his arms across his ribcage and clicked his long teeth together. "Well, you can  _try_ ," he replied icily. Jaina sighed and looked at her feet, trying to formulate some response.  _Yes, I need a teacher, someone that understands necromancy, and someone who is familiar with the Lich King's power. But it_ can't  _be him! It can't be! Kel'Thuzad was Arthas' general, his advisorl! He let the Scourge into Dalaran! They killed Antonidas and that is unforgiveable!_

She heard an abrupt sizzle of magic and looked up just in time to see the hem of the lich's kilt vanish through a new portal. It closed with a gulp behind him.

"I suppose I should've seen that coming," she grumbled to herself and stood up shakily. The first portal Kel'Thuzad had made, which he had tried to urge her through as the battle raged, was still glowing quietly on the sand at the edge of the lake. She tested it cautiously with her magic. It really did lead back to Icecrown Citadel. Bruised, worried, exhausted, and overcome with disappointment, Jaina trudged home through the gateway.

* * *

"My lord!" yelped a Cultist in surprise as Kel'Thuzad appeared unannounced in the midst of their camp.

"Sir, what news?"

"Your disguise! What happened?"

He had traveled here through a series of portals and teleports, in hopes that if someone  _might_  try following him, they would soon grow confused and be unable to continue. He needed time and safety to decide what should be done next.

"I was forced to abandon it," he replied. Every Cultist present was hurrying toward his position. "Jaina Proudmoore is the Lich King," he announced when they were near enough. He waited, letting them express shock and dismay, but raised a hand for silence when they began to hypothesize assassination strategies. "No. I do not believe we require that particular contingency. In my time at the Citadel, she accepted her role and became willing to learn the ways of necromancy, albeit through some unusual avenues. She is not the King we expected, but she is no less our Master," he said firmly. Some of the bolder Cultists exchanged looks of uncertainty.

"But, sir, Lady Proudmoore has ever been an enemy of the Cult, and of yourself," offered one of them hesitantly.

Kel'Thuzad nodded, drifting restlessly to the edge of the camp and staring out over the precipice on which it perched. "She has. But Lady Proudmoore of Theramore no longer exists. Our Master is a living human, and though she has terribly limiting morals, she wields the strength of the Lich King, and all the mysteries that come with that title. Now, leave me."

"Sir, what should we-"

"Leave me," he commanded. They didn't argue. Experience taught them it was best not to harry the lich with questions when he was visibly shaken. It made the Cult uncomfortable to see their immediate Master behave like this, but whatever had happened at the Citadel was neither foreseen nor imminently catastrophic, so they waited. He would come up with something. He always did.

Kel'Thuzad paced to the edge of the cliff, deep in thought. Jaina wanted to try him for crimes against Azeroth, and execute him. Why would she think he deserved that end? He had taken lives, many,  _many_  lives, but that was not so uncommon. How many deaths were on Tirion Fordring's blessed hands, or on Jaina's own? She knew how to kill, and when. Jaina had challenged Kazimir Frostblood to defend the work of the plague in Lordaeron, repulsed by the deaths of innocents.  _They had no choice!_  she accused. How was that different from the daily life of a peasant? Their choice didn't matter in the wider scope of things. And humans had such brief, hurried lives...

He shifted into the wind that swooped over the Storm Peaks, a prickly, ice-laden gale. Somewhere, kilometers away, was Icecrown Citadel, and his lost and fractured King.  _Perhaps I should have heeded Stavros, and let he or another of the Thuzadin go in my place._  But no. Though some of them had been Dalaran trained, none of them could have known enough to pique Jaina's interest, or match wits with her in study.

She had given him no choice, dragging him through the portal, engaging the Vrykul without assessing their numbers. And she had been tired already from summoning the Scourge. What had she done when she returned to the Citadel? Did she remember to eat? Sleep? Kel'Thuzad cursed softly. He'd had no choice! Either he forced her through the portal and let himself be killed, or he revealed himself. Either way, Jaina lost the guidance of Kazimir Frostblood, and Kel'Thuzad was forever cast out from his King's trust.

There was a nudge against the hem of his kilt and Kel'Thuzad looked down. Walking daintily on the snow crust was a large black and white cat. The lich broke off his train of thought with an invisible expression of joy and scooped up the animal with both hands.

"Why hello cat," he purred, carefully scratching it's chest with one fingertip. "You're a brave lady to be out in this weather. Or hungry. Are you hungry?" He turned to look back at the camp, but he doubted the Cult would forget to feed his pet. With the cat rumbling happily in the crook of his arm, Kel'Thuzad wondered what Jaina would think of him now.

He'd been human still when he found the cat, trotting confidently through the empty streets of Caer Darrow above the Scholomance, big plume tail held haughtily above her back. She had paused to look at him, one moment of fearless curiosity contained in big blue eyes.

Most people said animals didn't like the undead, or their necromantic creators. Kel'Thuzad had never found this to be true with himself. Dogs might raise their heads and sniff; horses might cock an ear in his direction, but he had never received the fear or aggression others reported. The cat had acted as cats usually did: ambivalent. But he had crouched down and held out his hand, and after a moment, she deigned to butt her head under his palm. It had taken another minute to get her purring and by then Kel'Thuzad was late for a meeting. He saw the cat several times after that encounter and always paused to pet her, until one day when he had no immediate obligations and picked her up. He had noticed that she wore a collar with a single tag, and out of curiosity, he examined it.

"Mister Bigglesworth," he read and held the cat out at arms length for a moment. She struggled, unamused. He set her down and watched her twine around his ankles, rubbing black and white fur all over his ornate robes. "I can't even begin to guess at the logic that lead to your name." But it amused him immensely, guessing at the cat's past, and the most anyone in the Cult of the Damned did was raise a confused eyebrow when Kel'Thuzad finally brought her into the school.

When his headquarters moved to Naxxramas, Mister Bigglesworth came with him and kept the necropolis surprisingly low on vermin. He never bothered to change her name, personally assuming that cats paid little heed to what people chose to call them.

Now, he crooned his thoughts to the aging feline. "Jaina doesn't want my help, but she needs it. She is too politically sensitive and too morally fixed to see what is best for her rule right now." Mister Bigglesworth yawned. "You don't care so long as someone feeds you. Jaina would feed you, even though she seems to be more of a dog person." He grumbled and stared into the buffeting wind again, pondering. "Wait..." The lich hurried back into camp.

"I have a plan," he announced. He waited until the Cult had gathered. "Lady King Jaina must be trained, and she must be protected until she is willing to put her powers to full use. Jaina trusted me, but I lost that. She will be cautious and slow to build trust with anyone new. However, I will send most of you to her side immediately, to support her in whatever way she requires. And, as she has set aside her aversion to the undead, half of you will go with my blessing."

The atmosphere instantly electrified. None of the Cultists spoke but Kel'Thuzad could see them each sit up and focus intently in anticipation. He gestured to five individuals.

"You," he beckoned them forward, "you five will accompany me elsewhere. The rest of you have one hour to prepare and present yourselves to me at nightfall." The majority of the group bowed and nodded and scrambled off.

His chosen five remained. All of them were Thuzadin, including Stavros. They were utterly loyal to him. Still, he knew they were wondering why he had not chosen them to immediately receive the gift of undeath.

"You are my most deserving disciples," he told them, and laid his hands on the shoulders of the two closest. "And my most capable students. I need spies, living spies. You will accompany me to the enemy's gates, and we will cripple our King's detractors."

"The Vrykul, my lord?" asked one woman, darkly eager.

"Yes. They believe Jaina is an imposter and have declared war on the Scourge."

"They killed my sister, sir," said the woman vehemently. There was some resemblence between this woman and the first corpse Kel'Thuzad had dug out of the snow at the wrecked Cult encampment over a month ago.

"You will be revenged," he assured her. "And our King will be protected."

* * *

The portal deposited Jaina on the glacier in front of the Citadel. Since the front door was fortified and Jaina was not in the mood to pick her way through obstacles, she circled around to the eastern entrance. Her journey took her past Tirion Fordring's tent and she paused for a moment as she approached it. The paladin had wanted to know Kel'Thuzad's whereabouts but now that Jaina had found him, she hesitated in telling Tirion. She was embarrassed that Kel'Thuzad had so completely fooled her, and she knew the paladin would feel similarly. He'd had Kel'Thuzad in his custody as well, and released him.

"Welcome back, Lady," Talsen warbled when Jaina trudged through the entrance. The ghoul turned his rheumy eyes upward at her from his habitual crouch, then glanced behind her and she knew he was looking for Kazimir Frostblood. Talsen was accompanied by the Taunka ambassador, Earthsinger, who looked Jaina up and down, eyes settling on the scorch-marks and tears on her clothes.

Jaina sat down on a piece of broken masonry and pried off her thick fur-lined boots.

"What happened?" asked the Tauren woman, eyes wide. "Are you hurt?"

"Put these near the fire to thaw," Jaina instructed Talsen, pushing her wet, muddy boots with one toe. The ghoul nodded. He gathered them up and loped off diligently. Jaina looked up at Earthsinger, patiently waiting for a response.

"No, I'm not hurt," she said, "I'm just tired."

"But your robes are all messed up! Look at you. You were just upstairs, weren't you? Here, give me your hand." Jaina paused, eying the Tauren woman uncertainly. "Look, I'm not good at this diplomacy stuff, so I'm sorry if I'm offending your person, or whatever. But you look like hell, so let me take a look."

Jaina relaxed and put her hand in Earthsinger's. "You're a healer, then?" she asked. Earthsinger shook her head, russet hair bouncing. Jaina had never seen a Tauren with curls before and wondered if they were natural.

"Naw, I'm all about the elements, Lady King," smiled Earthsinger, "but all shamans can heal a bit. Now you're all beat up and worn out, and if you don't want to tell me what happened, that's your business, but at least eat something and go to sleep, will you?"

Jaina wanted to smile at the woman's concern, but she was simply too exhausted. "Thank you," she said quietly. "I'll do that."

"You'll be okay?"

Jaina sighed. "Sure. Eventually." Earthsinger clearly didn't like that answer, but she departed.

Jaina padded across the stone floor in stocking feet, ignoring the obsequious attention the undead soldiers paid her. She went to her chambers, ushered Dreilide through the door ahead of her when the animal galloped up the hall, and closed it behind them.  _Tomorrow I will figure this out,_  she thought, and fell into bed.

She dreamed, of course. She dreamed of Arthas in his paladin armour, regal blue and gold, but the metal was scuffed and filthy, and he moved as though it all weighed too much for him. Jaina tried to go to him and found that, for the first time, she was not a participant in the dream. She could only watch.

The prince claimed Frostmourne, and the sword claimed him. Jaina watched his hair turn white and the life drain out of his flesh. She frowned, but she didn't weep. This was history, and unchangeable. Through a series of disjointed images, some too focused to identify and some too distant, she watched Arthas fall into darkness, until the dream swam in black and red and she wasn't sure if she was seeing the movements of muscles, or of armies. It was chaotic and brutal and swift, and then it was over, and Jaina was looking at herself, kneeling beside the fallen prince.

It was afternoon when he had died, and evening when Jaina arrived. There was still light on the horizon and the glacier curved from east to west, pale colour reflecting the setting sun back into the sky. Jaina watched herself clutch the trim of the cloak in her trembling fingers, aware now as she hadn't been then that every person present was staring at her. Her body language screamed anguish, when it should have sung victory. And she knew she couldn't reach out to embrace him, because what would they think of that? She was respected, even loved, by those around her and though she wanted  _so desperately_  to hold him, and cry for his pitiful end and his weakness and his stupidity and his guilt and his paranoia, she couldn't.

So she reached for his memory, for a shred of his soul, staring at that cold, dead face, and tried to pull everything he had been to herself, mentally, though there was nothing left.

Except the Lich King.

Jaina saw herself snap rigid, saw her own back arch and her teeth bared in a scream of horror and loss and fear. She saw the others present converge on her terrified form, saw glances traded between them. They were worried, even sympathetic, and none of them guessed what had happened.

" _I did this to myself,"_ she whispered, and realized she was awake, staring at the black ceiling above her. "I did this." Yes, she remembered now. Uther Lightbringer's spirit, speaking to her in the Halls of Reflection, cautioning her that there must  _always_  be a Lich King, but also trying to soothe her, or encourage her, by telling her that a tiny glimmer of Arthas' soul still lived, trapped and bound by Frostmourne. It was that which she had reached for when she knelt over him at the Frozen Throne, but Arthas was dead and whatever remained of his soul was free, finally.

Jaina sat up in bed, pulling the blankets around her shoulders. "I did this to myself," she repeated, the enormity of her realization hovering just out of reach. "Tirion said they thought whoever put on the Helm next would become the Lich King, but I pulled it out and into myself. Didn't I?" Movement caught her attention and she jerked around to find Dreilide approaching the bed. The plague hound whined and cocked his head.

"Antonidas always told me not to meddle with magic I didn't understand," she said to the hound, "and I did, without even realizing it." Jaina reached out and stroked Dreilide's head. "What's done is done, right?" She pushed back the covers and swung her legs out, wincing as her bare toes touched the cold stone floor. "We have a lot to tell Tirion."

The weather was calm and still, but although it was mid-morning, the day was still dark. Jaina had been tracking the hours of daylight and as the calendar closed in on the solstice, the north spent more and more time in a state of perpetual twilight. It didn't seem to bother Dreilide, who ranged within shouting distance as they approached Tirion's lone tent.

The paladin was standing beside the door flap, reading a missive on thick blond parchment. A broken seal made of red wax dangled from the message. Tirion looked up.

"Jaina," he said warmly.

"I found Kel'Thuzad," she replied abruptly, without greeting. Tirion straightened up and his eyes hardened.

"Where."

"He disguised himself as Kazimir Frostblood," she said. "I had no idea."

Tirion sighed heavily. "Neither did I. Where is he now?"

"I don't know. The Vrykul attacked the Frenzyheart Wolvar yesterday. I went to help, to defend them, and took Kazimir with me. It was an ambush and we were alone." She looked at the snow. "He made a portal and told me to flee. I refused. He dropped the disguise and- and we fought the Vrykul together. I told him I would arrest him and that he would stand trial, and he disappeared. I don't know where he might have gone."

Tirion said nothing, then held out the note. Jaina took it, recognizing the symbol pressed into the wax, and scanned the clumsy script. Varok Saurfang had been debriefed on Jaina's behaviour and decree that Fordring, Mograine and Hellscream should stay out of her business. Her eyebrows rose as she read on and she found herself chuckling.

"Highlord Saurfang concurs with your opinion," said Tirion drily as she finished and handed the message back. "I value his words." The paladin shook his head. "And I value yours. In truth, we have no idea how this power works. No one got close enough to Arthas to thoroughly research it and if they had, I doubt they could have told us what to expect upon his death."

"Actually, I think I figured that part out," said Jaina carefully, and proceeded to relate her dream. When she finished, Tirion was sitting on the scarred stump he used to chop firewood, chin in one hand, contemplating the snow.

"You didn't know what you were doing," he said, "I'm sorry, Jaina."

"For what?"

"I never knew how much you still cared for him."

"Neither did I," she replied quietly. "And even if I had, I wouldn't have known what harm it could do."

Tirion pulled thoughtfully on his beard. "I received another letter this morning," he said and dug in a pocket. This one was on clean white paper, folded in such a way that the letter was it's own envelope. Jaina opened it.

"Oh," she said in surprise, "well, I'm happy to know the Wolvar are safe, then."

"Wyrmrest Temple may never be the same," added Tirion, eyes sparkling, "And they've taken note of your compassion."

"The messenger I sent to the Temple told me that the Dragonflights voted. I only lost their allegiance by one, and not because I was the Lich King, but because I was a mage."

Tirion snorted. "The Nexus war is too fresh in their minds, Malygos' madness too current. They distrust magic more than they dislike undeath even, but that will change with time. You helped King Wrynn defeat Onyxia, and she was an enemy to them all, even to her own Dragonflight if their ambassador is to be believed."

"I would be glad of their friendship," she said, and pushed her hands deep into the pockets of her padded coat. "I don't think the Vrykul are going to be deterred by their losses yesterday. They sincerely wish me dead. What they did to the Frenzyheart... What if I hadn't intervened in time? It wouldn't have been an ambush; it would have been a massacre."

"They probably planned it that way. Another bloody taunt."

"I can think of only one way to solve this, Tirion, and I don't like it. I don't want to make my first memorable act as Lich King an act of war." He looked up, surprised.

"It won't be. Your first memorable act was talking the Nerubians out of murdering everyone in the Citadel. It was an act of diplomacy and reason, Jaina, which is exactly what I would expect from the Lady of Theramore."

She blinked. "I suppose you're right. I'm just... worried about acting in any martial capacity." She abruptly recalled the ice sphere that had formed instead of a frostbolt, and the ferocious white-out that had swarmed around her instead of a controlled, localized blizzard.

"Are the Scourge truly under your command?" asked Tirion carefully.

"All but Kel'Thuzad," she replied, "I looked for him this morning, through the eyes of the Scourge. I couldn't find him. He must be alone."

Tirion shook his head. "No. Now that we're aware that he's alive, he's probably holed up with whatever remaining minions he has. He's with the Cult of the Damned, the living ones, because he knows you can spy on him among the undead. We need to find him before he acts. What did he say to you, when he revealed his identity?"

"He said he came to teach me," murmured Jaina, "And he said he didn't want to kill me, but I think it was an option. He talked about Arthas and he..." Jaina bit her lip. "He said he watched my dreams."

"To my knowledge, Kel'Thuzad was never capable of telepathy, but I don't know much about him and I don't know what sort of magic he learned in the Scourge."

"I think it's because he's bound to the Lich King," said Jaina quietly. "He knows  _my_  thoughts and  _m-my_  dreams because I, uh, broadcast them. No,  _I'm_  the telepathic one. I don't know how to stop it, and I'm afraid it could be a hazard if he decided to oppose me."

"He hasn't?"

"Opposed me? No. Never. I assumed it was because he needed to keep his cover intact, but honestly, I don't know Kel'Thuzad well enough to predict what he might do."

"Well, we need to find him before he does anything. Who might know him well enough to find him?"

"Cultists? Arthas? Someone in Dalaran?" Jaina shrugged. "I don't remember him being especially close to anyone, when we were both still there. I mean, I was a teenager when I was there, I didn't really know any of the adult's affairs well, but some friendships were obvious. Kel'Thuzad was polite and social with everyone, but no one specifically."

"I can organize a group to hunt him."

"Yes, of course," said Jaina, "he's a criminal." She turned to the south, peering into the ice fog that veiled the horizon. "I'm going to Dalaran. I wasn't old enough to know his political allegiances, or where his lands were, but they're bound to have it in the archives." She looked back at Tirion. "I may have been too harsh in my judgement when I exiled you from the Citadel. You're welcome in my home any time, Highlord." Tirion returned her smile, and thanked her.

Jaina entered Dalaran as openly and as peacefully as she could: by flying. They knew she was coming long before the skeletal gryphon she was riding touched down on the circular landing platform built at the city's southwestern limits. She dismounted and handed the creature's reins to the Windmaster's apprentice that scurried over. She paused for a moment to adjust her cloak, trying to look as non-threatening as possible while giving those gathered a chance to gawk. When she was growing up in the city, gawking at important travellers was practically the official sport of apprentices and she guessed her visit now would give the young mages days worth of gossip material. Comfortable finally, she began to make her way towards the city's interior.

The magical city gave her a case of poignant nostalgia. She passed shops she remembered, people whose names she hadn't uttered in years, and mundane places that evoked sudden memories. She craned her head around to stare up at the towers.  _Everything was different, then. Dalaran was surrounded by mountains, attached to the ground, and we were at war with no one. Well, no one that I_ knew _at least._

_S_ he arrived at the Violet Citadel and ascended the stairs alone.

Rhonin Redhair, magocrat of Dalaran, was waiting for her. Very little happened in Dalaran without it's ruler knowing, and Jaina had earned quite an audience on the landing platform. She had not, however, expected his wife to be there with him, and she hesitated on the top step when she saw Vereesa Windrunner.

"Jaina!" said Rhonin and Jaina got over her hesitation. They shook hands warmly. Jaina curtsied to Vereesa, who nodded stiffly to her.

"It is good to see you, Rhonin," she replied, "I wish I could stay longer, but my visit is sadly urgent."

"You've got most of the mages either climbing the towers for good sniping positions, or arguing over who will get the first audience with you," he chuckled, "Certainly you can stay for a late lunch, at least."

"It can't hurt," she admitted and her mind immediately jumped to all the foods she hadn't been able to get at Icecrown Citadel.  _Light, I hope they have oranges. And grapes. And anything that isn't preserved in brine._

"Now, what brings you back to Dalaran, my Lady?" asked Rhonin, sweeping her toward a richly decorated tea room. Jaina took a seat across from the couple.

"I've found, and then lost, Kel'Thuzad," she said. Both Rhonin and Vereesa's expressions hardened instantly.

"That poisonous coward always was good at slithering out of uncomfortable situations," growled Rhonin.

"Yes," said Jaina, "I never knew him well enough to predict what he might do or where he might go. I was hoping I might be allowed to access whatever information Dalaran has on his history. I also hoped you might have some insight that I don't."

"Can't you just  _call_  him back to you?" said Vereesa, her delicate voice filled with ice. Jaina set down the tea cup she had just picked up.

"No," she replied, "I can't."

The two women stared at each other for a heartbeat, until Vereesa turned her gaze aside, her lip curling in derision. Jaina picked up her tea and took a sip.

"I can see through the eyes of the Scourge, but Tirion Fordring thinks Kel'Thuzad is probably hiding with the remaining living members of the Cult of the Damned. I can't enter his consciousness as I can the other Scourge, so I can't find him that way. When our paths crossed," she said carefully, "he did not seem to have any intention of harming me, or sabotaging me, but he is clever and a very good liar. I want to find him before he finds me again, or anyone else."

"Well, I doubt he'd be stupid enough to use any of his old familiar locations. Unless he assumes that's what we'd think. Hmm. Contact Darion Mograine; his forces in the Eastern Plaguelands can keep an eye on Stratholme and the Scholomance just in case he does choose to return to those places."

"What about somewhere in Northrend? Where might he go?"

Rhonin spread his hands, at a loss. "Naxxramas is in pieces. He was sighted near Warsong Hold last year, doing Light knows what, but there was an, er, confrontation and he never returned."

"Highlord Saurfang?" hazarded Jaina. Rhonin nodded. A young Draenei, a girl of perhaps thirteen, entered and served them each metal plates of cheese and fruit and roasted chicken. She wore an apprentice's robe and stared unabashedly at Jaina the entire time.

"He was never seen anywhere else, by any of the spies?"

"The Cathedral of Darkness, upon occasion," said Rhonin, "but its right next door to the Citadel. You would know if he were there, I assume."

Jaina nodded, more because she was sure Kel'Thuzad would put distance between them than because she would be able to sense him if he didn't. "If he's with the Cult, they'll need space. And supplies, some pretty specific supplies. They could get those from the ruins of Naxxramas, I suppose, or from the Scholomance. I'll inquire with Highlord Mograine about the Plaguelands. Have you heard anything about scavengers or looters near Naxxramas?"

Rhonin shook his head. "No one wants to go near it. The ground's poisoned, the air is foul. There was a green dragon and a bunch of druids working to make sure nothing that leaked out of it got into the river to the east. It'd be death for the living, and you can keep tabs on the undead."

Jaina nibbled thoughtfully on a strawberry, only half of her mind working on the problem. The other half was celebrating the taste of fruit.

"What about the properties he owned?"

"He sold them all. Took the gold. The druids decontaminating Naxxramas found some of it. Adventurers that penetrated the Scholomance found treasuries. Still, he was a wealthy man. But he doesn't own land anymore."

"Where was it? I don't think he cares who owns the land. If he's familiar with the area, he might use it anyway." Jaina ate another strawberry, while Rhonin called the Draenei apprentice back, then sent her away with Jaina's request. A short time later, the girl returned with a single sheaf of paper.

"That's all?" said Jaina, dismayed.

"Yes, ma'am," whispered the girl. Jaina gave her a thin smile, then opened the file. She read through it in the time it took her to eat a blood orange and set it aside.

"His properties were all urban. It would be impossible for him or the Cult to hide in a populated area." Jaina sighed, then sat up. "What about- what about  _before_?"

"I'm not sure what you're asking."

"Before Kel'Thuzad died, before he joined the Kirin Tor. Where's he from? Where would he feel comfortable? There's absolutely nothing in the file about his origins. Why is that?" Rhonin shrugged helplessly, but Vereesa sat up slowly. Jaina turned to her. Carefully, the high elf put down her fork and folded her napkin in her lap.

"My sister might know."

"Lady Sylvanas?" said Jaina quietly.

"Yes."

None of them expanded on the statement. To Jaina's knowledge, Sylvanas and Vereesa had not seen each other since Sylvanas' death and resurrection.

"Thank you," said Jaina. She wanted to ask Vereesa if she would like Jaina to convey a message to her sister when she spoke to Sylvanas, but the flinty look in the elf's eyes silenced her. They finished the meal, making pleasantly bland conversation and Jaina bid the couple farewell.

Sylvanas had not yet returned to the Undercity and, as Jaina understood, she was currently in the town of Venomspite. She sent a gargoyle ahead of herself, bearing a message of introduction. It was more a way of preparing the town and the Banshee Queen for Jaina's arrival than anything. She had no idea how Sylvanas would react to her, having lost her life to the previous Lich King, but Sylvanas was intelligent and as Jaina's skeletal gryphon banked around the flank of the mountain sheltering Venomspite, she hoped the Banshee Queen would remember her as an ally.

The Forsaken inhabitants of the town were another story entirely. The moment she landed, all movement in the town seemed to cease. Every eye was on her and there was no pity in them, only vitriol. Jaina put her hood back, but otherwise stood perfectly still beside her gryphon. She looked around in apparent interest, noting the muzzles of guns and the glint of arrowheads openly aimed at her person. Jaina coughed for effect, then took several deep breaths, exhaling plumes of frozen breath.  _Don't shoot me. Look, I'm alive. I'm not damned as Arthas was._

"Lady Proudmoore," Sylvanas greeted her, stalking out of a shadowy doorway to her immediate right. Jaina wondered briefly how long the Dark Ranger had been watching her. The woman was cloaked in blues and grays, her glowing crimson eyes the only vibrance in her appearance. Undeath made Sylvanas immune to cold, and she wore an intricate, revealing costume that left her abdomen and throat bare. Even Forsaken, she was beautiful. Jaina wondered if the outfit was meant as a distraction, a vanity, or a taunt. No warrior would willingly show the most vulnerable areas of their body, no matter their skill in battle.  _I suppose it doesn't matter if she catches a stray arrow,_  thought Jaina with a stab of pity and decided the outfit was in defiance of Sylvanas' undead state.

"I received your letter," Sylvanas continued, holding up the note in one slender hand. Her eyes never left Jaina's face. "I must wonder why you didn't take the opportunity to destroy the monster when you had the chance."

Jaina realized she was not going to be invited in for tea.

"There's no point in destroying Kel'Thuzad before we find his phylactery. He'll just resurrect himself again," replied Jaina, "I would gain nothing by doing so."

"I see," murmured Sylvanas, "But you might gain something if only you could  _control_  the creature."

"Yes. I would gain a prisoner."

Sylvanas raised one pale eyebrow. "A prisoner," she repeated and ambled closer, "Not a teacher? Not a subordinate?"

"Right now, he is neither," said Jaina, straightening up. She didn't have a hope of matching Sylvanas' elven height. "I assume he's with the Cult. What he's planning is a mystery. You worked beside him once, against your will. What do you know of him?"

Her bluntness stopped the Banshee Queen in front of her, staring down with unreadable red eyes. "Nothing," she whispered. "He did as he was told. Whatever ideas he had were made to serve the Lich King. There was nothing else."

"I believe you," said Jaina, "but those ideas have to come from some knowledge, some experience. I would read into them, and I'm only human. You have an elven lifetime of wisdom. You must have learned things even if you couldn't act on what you discovered."

Sylvanas turned away from her, arms folded under her breasts. She contemplated the steeple of the apothecary workshop beside them. "I've treated you unfairly," she said at last, "What Arthas did to us is not so different. What you are now is not your fault." Jaina shifted her weight from foot to foot awkwardly. "In Arthas' presence, Kel'Thuzad had no personality. He was completely obedient and impersonal. I only saw his individuality when we were alone." She examined her lacquered fingernails. "He is vicious, Jaina. He's willfully cruel, and clever enough to know what people fear most and use it against them. But he isn't devoid of compassion and that's what makes him more awful. Sometimes he is kind. He was kind to me. He was protective and empathetic. I hated him."

Jaina chewed her lip thoughtfully. "That's how he treated me."

"He chooses favourites, Jaina. Everyone else is expendable." Jaina remembered Kazimir's comment about peasants-  _petty, stupid, weak_. She was intimately aware of a particular demographic that thought this way.

"He must have been part of a noble family. Its how they treat servants," she pondered, "But if there were ever records of his lineage in Dalaran, they're gone now."

Sylvanas looked away, frowning. "There wouldn't be records." Jaina waited for her to elaborate.

"Why?" she asked when the answer was not forth-coming.

"His name," said Sylvanas, tight-lipped. "He's never changed his name. Liches traditionally take a new one that reflects their new life, but he didn't."

"Perhaps it meant his new life and his old life weren't so different?" said Jaina, baffled.

"How many humans of prominence do you know without family names?" asked Sylvanas. Jaina blinked.

"None that come to mind."

"Exactly."

"I don't understand."

"If a human is a bastard child, he takes the name of his mother. If he is an orphan, he takes the name of his town. But in kal'dorei tradition, an orphan child has no family name and in high Darnassian, Kel'Thuzad means 'son of autumn ice'. It's the sort of name that one might give a foundling, a lost child or the survivor of some tragedy discovered at first snowfall." Jaina's eyes widened as she listened, and Sylvanas began to pace. "What's more, his personal retinue, the Thuzadin, translates to 'children of autumn'. You are a friend of the Night Elves, but did they ever teach you to conjugate grammatical gender in Darnassian? No. I thought not. The kal'dorei are protective of their native tongue; they'll teach a dialect to outsiders, but not high Darnassian. Only someone raised as a native speaker would know to change the masculine  _zad_  to the gender inclusive  _zadin_." The Banshee Queen stopped pacing.

"You want to find the lich, Jaina Proudmoore? Stop thinking like a mage of Dalaran, and start thinking like a feral Night Elf. It's likely he's been familiar with the wilderness, with ice and snow, his whole life for I can think of only one place remote enough for a kal'dorei family to raise a human child and teach him magic: Winterspring."

"But- but humanity didn't even  _know_  about the Night Elves until the Third War," stammered Jaina, "How could they end up with a human child on Kalimdor?"

Sylvanas shook her head. "I'm only guessing," she said, "Perhaps not Winterspring; perhaps Northrend, perhaps some island. Perhaps a shipwreck. Perhaps a raid. What I know is: he thinks he is better than other people, other  _humans_ , and I won't pretend elves don't think they are superior to the younger races. Whatever he became, I think he started with the kal'dorei."

"All this from a  _name?_ " said Jaina, incredulously.

Sylvanas cracked a tiny smile. "Words are powerful things, Lady King. As a diplomat, I know you understand this."

* * *

Jaina's first stop upon returning to the Citadel that evening was the bathroom. She was chilled to the bone from riding the skeletal gryphon through sub-zero air, and entered the room at a determined shuffle. She had located a large metal vat in the sub-basement of the Citadel and had it dragged to the storeroom down the hall from her personal chamber. It took less than a minute to fill it with snow and then melt it to steaming hot water with carefully applied fire magic. Jaina undressed with shaking hands and lowered herself into the vat with a whimper of pleasure. She didn't know what the tub had been previously used for and she didn't want to know. It was her tub now.

A half hour spent soaking up to her eyes in luscious hot water returned Jaina to a functional state. She contemplated her future actions as she worked soap through her wet hair. If Sylvanas' suppositions about Kel'Thuzad's origins were correct, Jaina would be seeking him among some of the most perilous terrain on Azeroth. What did an immortal lich care about steep slopes, high altitudes or avalanches? Jaina ducked her head under the water. But, wherever he hid, the location would have to be accessible to his living Cultists as well, if not entirely safe. They would need shelter, food, and heat.

_What I need,_  thought Jaina, imagining the fog-clad heights of the Storm Peaks,  _is the ability to fly._  Memories of her gryphon-travel throughout the day made her shudder involuntarily. She had never minded flying before; it was exciting and the view was always incredible. Or it had been along the temperate west coast of the Eastern Kingdoms, and in the warm, dry air above Kalimdor. In Northrend, flying was inviting death by frostbite and exposure in a very short amount of time.

_Unless you're undead..._  she thought and submerged herself, combing the soap out of her hair with her fingers. She came up and stepped out of the tub, reaching for a ragged towel.  _The only way I'm going to find Kel'Thuzad or his Cult in the mountains is from the sky. The only way I'm going to survive doing that is if_ I'm  _not the one actually flying. I need to find and control one of the frostwyrms._  The prospect was more than a little daunting. Up until this moment, Jaina had avoided contacting the enormous bone dragons that circled mindlessly, kilometers above the ground. It was one thing to give orders to an undead human, or Orc, or dwarf, or even elf. They were beings Jaina could fathom, creatures with life-spans and limited powers.

Dragons were something completely different. A living one was an awesome thing, a soul so old it had seen the birth of species, the movement of continents. An undead one, rendered mute and stupid, made  _animal_  rather than sentient, was an abomination of such magnitude it seemed evil just to contemplate commanding it.

_But I need to fly,_ Jaina argued to herself.

There was a tentative knock on the bathroom door. "Lady King?" said Earthsinger's muffled voice. Jaina hastily bound her hair back in a ponytail.

"One moment," she replied and threw on breeches and a long-sleeved tunic. She opened the door. Steam billowed out into the hallway.

"You have... guests," said the Tauren.

"What guests?" asked Jaina, pulling on two pairs of socks, balancing on one foot then the other.

"People," said Earthsinger, looking apprehensive, "Some living, some undead."

"Together?" she said and raised her head, suspicious.

"Yes."

Jaina narrowed her eyes, whirled the cloak over her shoulders and thrust her feet back into the furred boots Talsen had left outside the door.

"The Cult of the Damned," she guessed. Earthsinger relaxed noticeably.

"They just... appeared," Earthsinger affirmed. "They didn't threaten me. They just told me to tell you that they've come to offer you their loyalty."

"I'll bet they have," Jaina muttered and hurried towards the entrance, trying to wring out her ponytail as she walked so it didn't drip cold water down her neck.

Gathered just inside the main doors of the Citadel, every one dressed alike in black and purple robes, were twenty solemn-faced people. Jaina was accustomed to the lesser forms of reanimated Scourge and after working on Talsen's arm and jaw, she had come to recognize them without sight just by the type of spells enacted on them.

Twelve of the Cult members were undead. The spells that replaced their nerves, that animated their flesh, and served their senses were so unlike anything she knew that Jaina paused and stared, just for a moment. To normal eyes, it was almost impossible to tell they weren't alive. To a mage's sight, they were scrawled with webs of magic, runes and sigils pulsing with power and complexity, the weaves inscribed on their very bones.

"Master," whispered a tall, black-haired woman, tawny eyes wide with rapture as she gazed at Jaina. She fell to her knees with a fluid grace that belied her undead state. The rest of the Cult followed her example and Jaina stood awkwardly for a moment, frozen by a mix of caution and self-consciousness. Then she stepped forward.

"Rise," she said, and they did as one. "Explain your presence."

"Master Kel'Thuzad told us to assist and protect you, my Lady," said a stout red-haired man.

"Even if that means you wish us imprisoned," said the black-haired woman and lowered her eyes sadly.

"We are yours to command," added an older man with shots of grey at his temples.

Jaina kept her expression serene.

"Where is Kel'Thuzad?"

The Cultists exchanged sideways glances that would have seemed more appropriate on guilty apprentices than adults.

"Master Kel'Thuzad has gone to Ymirheim," said the black-haired woman. "In retaliation against the Vrykul for their attack on your citizens." It took Jaina a second to realize the woman was referring to the Wolvar.  _What did he tell them? How trust-worthy can the Cult be? They're loyal to Kel'Thuzad, and to the twisted ideals Frostmourne pulled out of Arthas. Sooner or later, they're going to betray me, like Darion Mograine's Death Knights, and Kazimir Frostblood._

"That was profoundly foolish of him," said Jaina sharply. She clasped her hands loosely behind her back and began to pace slowly, watching the Cultists reactions. The black-haired woman made a little sigh and her shoulders slumped.

"Yes, Lady King, we thought so as well, but Master Kel'Thuzad will brook no argument. He took only five with him for support. If we don't hurry and join them, they'll be killed."

"How unfortunate," said Jaina quietly and raised her hands, already aglow with spellpower. The Cultists reacted with admirable swiftness, but what Jaina had meant to cast became a massive, thirty foot tall bank of solid ice, encasing all twenty Cult of the Damned members before they could counter her.

Jaina was only shocked for a moment. Then she hurriedly drilled eight tiny holes in the miniature glacier so her living captives wouldn't suffocate. They could worry hypothermia themselves. She turned and beckoned to the scattered ghouls and skeletons.

"Cut them apart from each other and lock them in a defensible room. Keep it cold. Talsen," she called, spotting the ghoul as he entered the foyer, "fetch Tirion. He'll want to ask them some questions."

Talsen glanced from her to the wall of prisoners. "What about you, Lady King?"

"I'm going to Ymirheim."


	10. Kaamos (Part 1)

This time, Jaina did not rush off without preparation. She ate dinner alone and went to bed. When the dreams began, she forced herself to wake and lay in the dark, staring at the roof until she drifted off again. She woke twice more, and the second time it was nearly dawn, according to the clock resting on her desk. Outside the window it was still dark. Jaina rose, took breakfast, then returned to her chamber to dress.

She knew she would need to deal with the Vrykul sooner rather than later and Ymirheim was their most prominent village, but it was Kel'Thuzad who was her priority.  _The betrayer of humanity._  She gritted her teeth.  _How could I not see it?_  Angrily, she pulled on a thick cotton shirt over her loose tunic, then a padded vest. Atop her breeches she layered quilted pants and tucked the tunic and shirttails into them. _How could I not see it? He was too well-educated, he knew too much about the Scourge!_

She yanked on her battle mage's garb and fastened a wide, fur-lined belt around her waist, cinching in the robe until the leather creaked.  _He knew everything I needed to know. He put himself right here, right when I needed answers, and I never suspected it was anything more than the blind loyalty of the Scourge._

"Well, Kel'Thuzad, now I know. And since you made yourself so indispensable to me, I'm coming to find you."

Jaina sifted through the Citadel's archives for a map of Ymirheim. Since the Vrykul had been allies of the previous Lich King, Jaina guessed he might have one somewhere. She was right. She spread the map on the kitchen table and chewed her lip thoughtfully.

_Kel'Thuzad wants to make war on the Vrykul with only five other people. How would he do it? Where would he start?_  He was powerful, but his powers weren't limitless. Six mages against an entire village of ready warriors was terrible odds.  _Only if you took them head on. Kel'Thuzad is cunning. He might fight dirty, but he doesn't fight stupid._  Jaina's eyes traveled over the map, tracking up a street to a solidly constructed keep buttressed by a natural out-cropping of rock.  _Buildings packed close together, so many places to hide, so many shadows._

Would he watch them before he struck?  _Probably. If he grew up the way Sylvanas thinks he did, he would have learned to hunt. Not just hunt..._  she realized, thinking of the shadowy, vigilant Sentinels that called the forests of Ashenvale their home.  _He learned to hunt in the dark. Patience, stealth, and silence._

Jaina closed her eyes and concentrated, moving her awareness through the Scourge inside the Citadel, and then beyond. She found a gargoyle in the air just east of Ymirheim, and prodded it toward the looming Vrykul town. There was light in some of the windows as she approached. The village spilled down-slope from the keep, connected by a web of narrow streets. Jaina urged the gargoyle to land on the roof of a building.

There were figures on the streets; two women carrying water buckets, a man leading a horse, guards walking in unconcerned pairs. Jaina shifted the gargoyle, its claws scraping on slate shingles. The Vrykul gave no indication that they were under attack, or even nervous.  _So either Kel'Thuzad isn't here yet, or he hasn't revealed himself. Good. Now I just need to figure out when he will..._ Then she stiffened. _Hunting in the dark! Today is the winter solstice, the darkest day of the year!_

Jaina released the gargoyle, and retrieved the Helm from her chamber, tucking it under her arm. She strode towards the western exit, going over her plan one more time. She paused outside and took a deep breath. Sneaking around in shadows wasn't something she was accustomed to, and had never been trained for, but she wasn't afraid to improvise. All she needed to do was find Kel'Thuzad and his minions without being noticed by the Vrykul. The rest would be a simple matter of deceit.

Her portal deposited her in the lee of a crooked two-storey building on the edge of the village. Jaina pressed her back against the wooden wall while she got her bearings, squinting into the thick perpetual twilight. Footsteps squeaked in the snow around the corner of the building. Jaina crouched behind a sagging rain barrel and held her breath.

The man who shambled around the corner was old and bent, his beard yellowed with age. He sniffed, spat, then turned and tottered back the way he'd come. Jaina waited a beat, listening as he retreated into the village. Then she pulled the Helm down over her head.

Ice-fog fell across her vision and the sparkling cold sight of the Scourge illuminated the darkness. Jaina found the gargoyle she had watched through earlier, then another circling above the village, and two plague hounds rummaging a garbage pile. As she stretched her awareness, trying to sense the tiniest flutter of an undead consciousness, she found there were soft shadows, freckles of unawareness, within her field of view. She paused, perplexed, and then suddenly realized what she was seeing: the living Vrykul. They were fragile and whispery, insignificant in the frigid light that bathed her vision.

Jaina guided her mystical sight around Ymirheim, fascinated by these tiny, vaporous lives, by how miniscule and delicate and brief they were. Slowly, she took stock of her unseen enemies. It was more difficult than locating undead; the gargoyles and plague hounds burned like pale torches to her, but the Vrykul were subtle and easily missed. Still, it gave her an advantage and she moved from shadow to shadow, unnoticed.

She worked her way deeper into the village, listening to what snatches of conversation that she could hear, and seeking the blurry patches of darkness that signified living creatures. Close to the keep, Jaina paused. There were people within and guards outside, but far fewer than she would have guessed. And on the roof, under the peak of a crude gable, six pinpricks of black and one of dim light, almost as imperceptible to Jaina's vision as the living.  _He must have layers upon layers of shields to keep himself hidden so well._

Jaina squinted up at the shape of the roof, gauging the distance and teleported.

She appeared directly behind Kel'Thuzad, though several feet above the roof and landed with an audible thud. The lich and his Thuzadin whirled. Two of them were holding an aged Vrykul man who struggled weakly.

"My King!" hissed Kel'Thuzad in surprise. "How did you-"

"Sylvanas helped," said Jaina. "I would like you to come with me." She glanced at the five Cultists, momentarily paralyzed by her appearance. "All of you."

"Of course, my Lady. But first, there's... something wrong here," said Kel'Thuzad.

"Wrong?" said Jaina warily, eying the Cult of the Damned members, who were gawking at her in return.

"The Vrykul sent their very best to Ymirheim to be close to their death god. There were hundreds of warriors stationed here, training. Now, the only Vrykul we've seen so far are too old, too young, or too injured to fight. There's something wrong."

Jaina hesitated and flicked her attention back to the village. Several stories below them, a lone Vrykul exited the keep. She took a step toward the edge and peered down. The woman below was thin, wrapped in layers of shawls, her gnarled hand clutching the head of a wooden cane. Jaina turned back to Kel'Thuzad.

"All of them?"  _He's a liar! He's stalling, just ignore him!_  But Jaina was nothing if not logical. Kel'Thuzad was right; there was something wrong with the population of Ymirheim.

"We arrived last night and began reconnaissance. There are too few Vrykul and none of them are warriors. This one," he gestured to the trembling man held between the two largest Cultists, "has told us only that we are 'too late'."

"An' yer stupid!" piped up the prisoner. One of the Thuzadin back-handed him without changing expression. Kel'Thuzad ignored him but Jaina flinched involuntarily.

"Too late for what? For you to ambush them, Kel'Thuzad? How would they find out? The Cultists you sent to me said you only decided to attack the Vrykul after you fled from me." She paused and looked up at the lich. "No. Too late to  _catch_  them at whatever they're up to now, more than likely. They declared war on the Scourge and attacked the Wolvar to antagonize me, or shame me. Right now, I'll bet they're off doing something similar to some other innocent village." Jaina felt a brief thrill of anger.  _I have him right here, within my grasp! I should just bind him and teleport him to the deepest dungeon I can find!_

"Then the question is: where are they?" mused Kel'Thuzad. "There were less than a hundred warriors in the Wolvar village, but Jaina, there were close to twelve hundred-"

" _Twelve hundred_?"

"Yes. Twelve hundred warriors, or more, lived and trained in Ymirheim. If they took all of them, whoever they've chosen to attack doesn't stand a chance." The prisoner groaned theatrically and rolled his rheumy eyes. Jaina stalked up to him. The Cultists rammed the man onto his knees so that Jaina could look down on him. She flinched inwardly; he was an elderly man and she felt sympathy for the abuse he had obviously suffered at their hands.  _But he's also an enemy, and he can tell me what's going on here._

"Why did the Vrykul leave Ymirheim? Where did they go?"

"Yer not tha sharpest knife in tha drawer, are ya?" Jaina grabbed the hand that whipped towards the prisoner, halting it mid-smack, and glared at the Thuzadin attempting to deliver it.

"Where?" she repeated quietly, staring unblinking into the man's cloudy grey eyes.

"I'm not afraid of no foolish sorceress."

"Where are they?" she asked. "Who would they need such a large force to attack?"

"I'm not scared of you!"

Jaina leaned down, bare centimeters from the man's face. "You keep saying that, but I think you're trying to convince yourself." She raised her hand before him, and frost began to coalesce in tiny, delicate spars around her fingertips. He squirmed slightly, no doubt anticipating pain. "Oh, I don't need you to tell me where they're attacking."

She straightened up, letting her vision expand, and began seeking undead roaming near the settlements of those she had contacted diplomatically. Jaina was vaguely aware of the old man's garbled rasp of shock as her sight focused first in one distant location, then another, and the murmurs of the Thuzadin.

"No sign of them yet..." she muttered, and looked back at Kel'Thuzad, the peculiar double-vision not as disconcerting as it had been mere days ago. "Is there any way they could have known you were coming to attack them?"

"No," replied the lich, "We made no communications. I used a portal to send most of the Cult to you, and then we came here."

"They must have been gone before you arrived. But where?" pondered Jaina, skipping from ghoul to ghoul across the rugged slopes of Grizzly Hills, "The Ashen Verdict, the adventurers that stormed the Citadel, none of them went through Ymirheim. The Vrykul could have left days after the Lich King fell, or just hours ago." Jaina shook her head, vision wobbling. "But I don't recall any reports of such a large group travelling together..."

Kel'Thuzad turned to the old man. "When did they leave?" he asked. The Vrykul bared his teeth defiantly.

"It'd be best if you answered him," suggested one of the Cultists ominously. "Our Lady dislikes violence but Master Kel'Thuzad is not quite so... forgiving of people's manners." Jaina looked sharply at the Thuzadin.

"When did they leave?" said Kel'Thuzad with feigned patience.

The old man clenched his jaw, stubbornly silent.

"You can tell me now, while you're still alive, or I'll make you talk once you're dead," Kel'Thuzad threatened.

"Yeah, you do that, ya skinny bastard," grunted the Vrykul.

"Very well. It's easier to question a corpse." Jaina saw Kel'Thuzad's hands flex, long bony fingers spreading and she had a sudden flash of the lich using those dagger-like hands as weapons. Jaina thrust one arm between Kel'Thuzad and his potential victim.

"No, no, no," she said quickly, "Let me find... find... oh gods." Jaina clasped a hand over her mouth, shock breaking her psychic connection with the gargoyle she was linked to, swooping south down the glacier. An afterimage burned in her mind's eye, a band of wriggling black against the darkness of midday, spanning the horizon, rippling like a heat mirage.

It was the silhouette of helmets, and spears, and the dismembered components of catapults and siege ladders being marched toward a familiar, jagged shadow rearing high above the ice. "They're at the Citadel. They're at the  _Citadel_!"

"What?"

"They're  _attacking the Citadel_!" Jaina clumsily snatched up her connection to the gargoyle again, and watched the first wave of foot soldiers break into a jog, then a sprint towards the edifice, howling a war cry. The gargoyle shrieked a warning that was quickly picked up by one of the sentries on the ramparts, and as a cold wooden shaft sunk into the doomed gargoyle, warning hand-bells began to ring all over Icecrown Citadel.

In the brief seconds it took for her words to register with the others, while the old Vrykul man laughed madly, Jaina's mind immediately leapt to cold, hard numbers: if Kel'Thuzad said there were twelve hundred warriors at Ymirheim, then the forces at the Citadel were out-numbered roughly three-to-one.  _Those aren't such terrible odds, especially if_... Jaina cringed at the thought but it still came.  _Especially if the Scourge necromancers reanimate fallen Vrykul._

"What is your will, Master?" asked one of the Thuzadin in a rush. Jaina glanced from one Cultist to the next.  _I came here to mete out justice by taking them prisoner. I don't need their help to win this battle._

"Defend the Citadel," she announced quickly and gestured a portal into existence. "Go!" The Thuzadin bowed as one and hurried through the portal. Jaina looked up at Kel'Thuzad. "That means you too."

The lich shook his head, the metalwork on his head-dress reflecting the glow of the shimmering magic. "Oh no. That trick was old when  _I_  was young. Portal to a magically sealed room? Really, Jaina?"

Jaina pursed her lips in annoyance and closed the portal. "Fine. Let's go. But you  _will_  be taken prisoner, Kel'Thuzad, when this is over."

"We will see," he said and disappeared through his own magical gate. Jaina followed him.

They appeared high on the battlements of the Citadel, looking down at a pitched skirmish already in progress on the ice. The foot soldiers had made it to the base of the stairs before they were countered by the squad of Scourge inside the Citadel's entrance. The Vrykul were pushing their advantage with assistance from sorcerers standing back from the action. None of the siege ladders were deployed and the catapults were still out of range.

The Scourge scrambled to assemble ranks of archers on the ramparts below, and Jaina squinted. The Tauren ambassador from the Taunka was bellowing orders at the archers and wasn't taking ' _no_ ' for an answer. Jaina almost chuckled. Then her gaze flicked northward, and she gulped.

"That's more than twelve hundred," said Kel'Thuzad, quietly voicing Jaina's fear.

"Yeah," she confirmed in a small voice, and found herself remembering the heat and sound and desperation of Mount Hyjal. They hadn't known if they could win, but they had tried, as she would try now. "If we can hold them off for long enough, maybe they'll-"

"They won't give up. No one commits this quantity of troops to battle if they doubt the outcome. They're hoping to overwhelm us," said Kel'Thuzad. It was jarring to hear him speak so soberly, almost fearful.

Jaina set her jaw. "Tirion... he was camped near the gate. If he escaped, perhaps he can summon aid." She started for the closest doorway at a jog.  _Aid from where? I have no allies. What if Tirion didn't escape? What if he- Stop it, Jaina!_  She shoved her tremulous thoughts away and clattered down the stairs, calling archers to her as she ran. Kel'Thuzad kept pace with no visible effort.

"I must confess, Jaina, I don't know how much use I can be to you right now."

Jaina skidded through the arch, shooing the archers out onto the ramparts, and headed for the transporter that would take her to the Frozen Throne. "What do you mean?"

"I just resurrected twelve people with meticulous, individualized spellwork."

"You're  _tired_?"

"A bit."

They flickered through the transporter and Jaina strode towards the Throne, where the rest of the Lich King's armour still rested in a heap. "Great. Fine. All right. Take down the barrier around your mind and let me at least use your point of view. It'll be useful to coordinate movements." Kel'Thuzad hesitated, watching her buckle on greaves that seemed too large until they were strapped to her shins. He waited another heartbeat, and then Jaina was aware of tiny bursts of energy released as complex spells were hastily broken, and Kel'Thuzad's presence became a searing tower of light beside her. She half-expected to squint when she looked at him.  _If that's how he appears to me, what must I look like to the rest of the Scourge?_

_Like a fallen star,_  said the lich's hollow mental voice.

"You command the forces on the eastern rampart; I'll take the west," she said, ignoring the comparison, as she crammed her hands into cold metal gauntlets. Kel'Thuzad teleported to his position as archers scrambled to join him. They strung their bows as the second wave of Vrykul foot soldiers reached the base of the stairs, pushing the Scourge back as the first group advanced.

"Aim! Release!" he ordered, and the volley fell into the attacking mass. There were shrieks and thumps, but the Vrykul closed ranks and pressed forwards.

On the opposite side of the building, Jaina's thin voice echoed Kel'Thuzad's command. Holes appeared in the Vrykul horde but they were quickly filled. One of the Scourge patrol squads came around the western side of the building, guided by Jaina's command, and fell on the Vrykul's flank.

"Aim for that catapult!" roared the lich, attention leaping away to one of the machines being loaded at the very limit of its range. Others were joining it, grinding along amidst an approaching swarm of warriors carried by armoured war mammoths. Scourge arrows sang out, peppering the Vrykul with deadly shrapnel, but none of them reached the catapult. The throwing arm released and Kel'Thuzad watched a rough chunk of stone pound into the foundation below him.

"Again!" The Citadel trembled with a second impact, closer to Jaina's side and Kel'Thuzad clicked his teeth in aggravation. The battle was joined now, two groups of Scourge soldiers closing from both east and west, patrols and interior defensive squads, locking the Vrykul vanguard between them. Kel'Thuzad began to pace behind the archers, pausing to fire frostbolts with deadly accuracy into the churning mix of warriors.

Suddenly the Citadel shuddered and Kel'Thuzad heard the eerie groan of breaking rock. He looked up in time to watch one of the bridges that connected the Citadel to the Cathedral of Darkness collapse and rain debris onto the glacier. Something dark spiraled away into the sky.

_They just bombed us._

**I saw, thank you,** she replied tersely, inside his head. For a brief second, he glimpsed the world as she saw it, bright and shifting, alive with power. The next moment, a pillar of flame canonned straight up into the sky, over-taking the drake and consuming it.

Another catapult shot crashed into the Citadel, this one putting a sizeable crater in the wall beside the entrance and the Scourge force defending it. Two more followed it; one missed and plowed a trough in the ice to the west, while the other caromed off the rampart below Kel'Thuzad, crushing Scourge and Vrykul alike when it came to a rest.

_We need to take out those catapults!_

**I have an idea**.

Kel'Thuzad continued to pace behind his archers, taking shots when he was sure they would connect. This was only the beginning and he couldn't afford to waste what strength he still had. A moment later, he saw three mounted figures tear away from the western wall, horses in full gallop as they fought to flank the burgeoning ranks of Vrykul and reach the catapult line.

_Who is that?_

**Darion Mograine's assassins, believe it or not. Apparently the only fate worse than being the Lich King's pawn is going back to Mograine with the news that they failed to carry out his orders.**

_I knew that boy had potential._

The trio shot past the flailing weapons of the Vrykul and closed in on one of the catapults. Its attendants tried in vain to defend the machine but the tall, slim figure of Kagra moved like a snake, sliding between their blows, leaving them open to her blades and Xochi's axe that followed behind.

At the base of the Citadel, the Vrykul were drawing together, raising their round shields under the hail of arrows. They left behind a carpet of bodies prickled with black-fletched shafts and Scourge too damaged to drag themselves after the enemy.

"Advance!" bellowed Kel'Thuzad, and the rows of soldiers waiting at the top of the stairs descended with a blood-curdling chorus. He followed, directing the archers to new positions along the lower rampart.

A sudden glow lit the battlefield and Kel'Thuzad watched the figures of the Acherus Death Knights scamper away from a burning catapult, streams of Vrykul in furious pursuit. They were quickly surrounded, then their attackers staggered back, screaming as their blood boiled and froze in turns. The knights zeroed in on another machine.

_They're actually quite good,_  he observed to Jaina.

**Yes** , she replied but her voice was distracted, taut and strained. She wasn't injured; he would know instantly if she was, so the lich turned his attention back to the melee, conjuring a small blizzard to impede the Vrykul foot soldiers. Orders were shouted, and ranks formed, the troops parting to make a corridor for the cavalry.

Now the Citadel faced a solid wall of armoured mammoths and their riders. Behind them was the catapult line, two burning, four still rolling forward. And behind the catapults was another throng of mixed forces, too distant and indistinct to count in the unending dusk, but closing in, archers leading the way.

**There!**  Jaina showed Kel'Thuzad a fur-clad man mounted on an ice mammoth, brief and electric like an image glimpsed in a flash of lightning.  **He's directing the attack! We need to reach him and-**

_Leave him to me, my King,_  replied Kel'Thuzad and swept into the fray, long hands curling into deadly claws. The Scourge rallied around him. He blasted a path before him, making no pretense about his goal, summoning every last shred of strength he had to cow the Vrykul, and it worked. The ice glowed red where he gestured and any living creature too slow to flee collapsed without a struggle. He had no shortage of targets and cast multiple shots at once, felling Vrykul in threes and fours. The man on the ice mammoth was pointing at him, shouting angrily.

Somewhere behind him, there was a ponderous crack and a groan, a sound that he felt more than heard, and then a great, thundering crash, followed by screams and cheers. He glanced back and saw the drake riders had succeeded in destroying one of the jagged towers flanking the entrance of the Citadel. Debris fell across the rampart he had just vacated, crushing archers and giving the Vrykul a visible measure of achievement.

Kel'Thuzad did not fear death, for death wasn't entirely real to him. He disliked pain and failure, and the temporary inaction aggravated him, but the thought of being torn apart by the Vrykul didn't phase him. The thought of those barbarians reaching his King, or dropping a boulder on her, however, enraged him. Forsaking his own safety, Kel'Thuzad forgot his weakness, ignored the odds, and raised his bony hands to the sky.

"Living souls who've breathed your last, broken corpses laid to rest! Rise again to aid your King!" His voice cut through the sounds of battle, carried by an enchantment that flew heedless of solid objects and plunged into still-warm Vrykul bodies, into the shattered Scourge, into the hasty, shallow graves of adventurers that had died to bring his old master to bay.

"Claw your way through ice and grime!" screamed Kel'Thuzad, and felt an arrow clatter off his sternum, "Rise and fight! Protect your lord! Come to me, to Kel'Thuzad!  _Come to me!_ I bid you rise, warriors! Rise and fight for the Scourge! Rise!  _Rise_!" Corpses twitched and jerked and swung around to cleave recent allies. The Vrykul reacted with turmoil and terror and the lich laughed as he sent fresh troops to Jaina's side.

Something huge and dark suddenly filled his vision. Talons the length of his forearm opened before him and Kel'Thuzad had the briefest of moments to react as the plagued drake stooped to impale him. He let it. The beast's enormous hallux slammed through his chest, snapping off his false ribs with the impact, hurling the lich backwards and pinning him down against the glacier. The nearby Vrykul broke into hoarse cheers, until Kel'Thuzad's floating chains contracted, twisted, and began to race in a complex, deadly path, shearing through the drake's soft flesh, through armour and bone and its rider.

Kel'Thuzad rose, battered and slathered in gore, but victorious.

Luckily, he saw the incoming catapult shot and dodged. The projectile thundered into the combatants behind him, smashing friend and foe alike. He straightened up and scanned the geography of the battle between handfuls of frostbolts.

**They flanked us,**  Jaina announced flatly. Kel'Thuzad was close enough to the Vrykul commander now that he gave up trying to plow through his defenders. Instead, the lich whipped his circling chains out at the man, snatched him from the mammoth and turned him loose on his own forces. Momentarily safe, Kel'Thuzad took stock. In the time it had taken him to reach the commander, the second army was upon them. Where the line of catapults had been there was only the chaos of armed combat now, rimed in black smoke and licks of flame. The Scourge forces were being divided as the mammoth cavalry pushed down the center, straight for-

"Jaina!" She had come down off the rampart, surrounded by Scourge defenders. They were trying to poke a hole in the squad of Vrykul that had come up from the south behind the Citadel. Kel'Thuzad swore, snatched a halberd from the hands of an unwary Vrykul and laid about himself with the blade, magic all but drained.

The Lich King stood on the ice in the center of a ring of Scourge, both hands aglow with spellpower, black armour glinting on her shoulders and hands. She was fighting like a mage: feet planted, weaponless, she let the wall of undead defenders take the physical brunt of her enemy's wrath as she delivered handfuls of fatal energy.

_You summoned merciless winter once! Do it again!_

Jaina tried to push Kel'Thuzad's voice out of her head. Sweat trickled down her temples into her hair. It was all she could do to  _aim_ , much less predict what form her magic would take. She envisioned a frostbolt and she got an explosive sphere of ice. She tried to call up a fireball and instead unleashed a gout of flame that incinerated an entire drake. And everything she made  _hurt_. The magic was almost beyond her control, as though it were something living trapped within her. She was just a shell, a vehicle for death itself.

But it was all she had and she needed to use it. Her breath came fast and shallow, and her ribs ached. Intensely uncomfortable, Jaina forced her straining muscles to relax, shoulders slumping, and tried to let the raging power inside her take a form that wouldn't tear her apart with its release. It was brutally difficult. Each time her control faltered, her diaphragm spasmed and she found herself gasping for breath, fighting her own body. It cost her focus and spells fell apart before she could complete them.

Her frustration mounted as the battle closed in around her. Jaina took a deep breath and let the alien power build within her. She fought to shape it, to channel it into a form she could recognize, and found three churning spheres of ice circling her and her defenders. Where they touched the Vrykul, their flesh flash-froze and broke. One of the battle-maidens raised an axe and hacked into a sphere. The magic exploded wildly, shards of glowing ice tearing through the squad of Vrykul.

"Nice show, Lady King!" Jaina whirled and found the Troll Death Knight, Xochi, grinning down at her. "Dat was pretty cool! You gonna do it again?" he asked hopefully as the Vrykul regrouped. Jaina glimpsed Kagra, weaving and slicing against the Vrykul alongside Starkweather.

"Yes," she said, setting her jaw and drew again on the same power. Her blood seemed searing hot as the cold of the spell built within her. The globes of ice appeared close, spiraling away from her, and Jaina brushed her hand against one. She yelped and drew back. The fingers of her gloves were disintegrated and her fingertips white with the beginning of frostbite. "Ow," she said reproachfully.

_Of course it hurts; you're living!_  She shook her head at Kel'Thuzad's words, but his logic was undeniable. Wiser now, Jaina chose a suitably distant target and summoned the spell again. It made her nauseous, blurred her vision, and she had to bend down and take several deep breaths afterward.

As she straightened up, something slammed into her. She rolled onto her back, fists crackling with impending destruction, only to find it had been Xochi. He had shoved her out of the path of a very large warhammer, swung by a towering Vrykul warrior, and taken the blow meant for her. Xochi's right arm hung uselessly, dislocated at the shoulder and probably broken. As Jaina scrambled up, darts of arcane power leaping from her fingertips, the Vrykul warrior completed a second swing and this time his hammer connected with the back of Xochi's head. He went flying. Jaina screamed, horrified, and saw Kagra dive to his side.

Frantically, Jaina seized her power and cast, pushing the Vrykul back with a series of five sparkling ice globes, giving the Death Knight room to see to her friend. She ducked as the spheres detonated and squeezed her eyes shut against the brilliant light.

There came a metallic ticking sound in the eerie silence that followed. Then came a crunch, then a whine, and as Jaina looked up, the remaining Vrykul scattered. Jaina froze. They had been standing shoulder to shoulder, she thought as an intimidation tactic, but instead it had been to hide what came behind.

The machine was compact and boxy, with a short throwing arm like a small catapult, broad metal wheels studded with foot-long spikes, and a harrow bolted to the front sharpened to a razor edge. Jaina had seen these things before; it was a siege machine, used by the Alliance in their never-ending attempt to secure Wintergrasp fortress and the resources of the area from the Horde.

And it had three friends.

The machines belched black fumes from their smokestacks and rolled towards her. She threw ice spheres in their path and watched in dawning fear as the machines rolled into them, barely shuddering at the explosions.

_Get out of there!_  Kel'Thuzad was struggling to reach her, to fire on the machines, but he too was surrounded and pinned down with little help.  _Levitate, fly! Fall back!_ Jaina focused on the foremost machine and blasted it with frostbolts, retreating. Splinters erupted where the shots struck wood, but the vehicle showed no other damage.

"Where the hell did they get those?" hollered Kagra. Jaina glanced over. The Orc was carrying Xochi's body in her arms.

"Fall back!" Jaina shouted, waving an arm. "Fall back!"

"To where?" snapped Kagra.

"Behind me!" replied Jaina. Her hair was stuck to her face with sweat and she was dizzy, but she had never felt so powerful. Her abilities were limitless, godlike. Why  _not_  use them entirely? Out of options, Jaina grasped her strange alien magic with both hands, drawing up something dark and foul that reeked of agonizing death. One of the siege machines fired and Jaina's control faltered as she side-stepped. The spell fell apart, sparks of black light falling from her hands, useless.

There was a second shot that plowed into her defenders, and a third, and a fourth. Jaina threw walls of ice up to stop them striking her forces, but the short lever arms gave the shots incredible velocity and the lead balls shattered every wall she summoned. She couldn't fight these things on foot. She needed something just as big and armoured, and she had  _nothing_.

A terrible fear welled up in Jaina. What if she died here? She had  _almost_  come to terms with her position, she'd been making plans for a future kingdom! She wanted to protect the varied northern races, learn about them and from them, to make Northrend a place of value and learning rather than strife and conflict.  _Damn you,_  she thought,  _I will not let you kill me! I don't care what I have to do, but I will_ not die!

The wall she summoned now came from the glacier itself, ancient ice shifting and rising, thick as the siege machines themselves. It dulled the sound of lead balls to the patter of raindrops and Jaina sat down cross-legged on the ice.

"What the hell are you doing?" yelled Kagra from behind her. "That'll hold them for minutes at best! We need a strong  _offensive_!"

"No," said Jaina calmly, "what we need are more allies, to flank them as they did us. Our numbers are too few and we are too unprepared. I am not experienced enough to out-manouver them, but we can beat them with numbers." Then she closed her eyes and concentrated.

All across the world there were agents of the Scourge, orphaned and hiding. Jaina put the dark, clawing thing inside her to work reaching out to them, her will flying across land and oceans with the speed of desperate self-preservation.

**Come home,**  she said simply,  **Come back to me.**  She knew the message was received, that its effect was inexorable. But it was useless if they couldn't arrive in time and so Jaina threw her Dalaran-taught magic out along the spine of the Lich King's will, to every Scourge-haunted corner of Azeroth. If she stopped to think about what she was trying to do, it would collapse under the weight of her disbelief. She struggled to maintain the hundreds of shimmering portals that opened abruptly, breath tearing at her throat, stomach cramping violently, in pain from the roots of her hair to the soles of her feet.

Blood dripped down her cheek. It startled her out of the spell and Jaina raised a shaking hand to find a dribble of sticky warmth oozing from her ear.

_Jaina, stop! You'll kill yourself!_

**I'm the Lich King** , she replied, dazed, staring at her red-stained fingertips. Then the ice wall before her exploded and she shrieked, scrambling back as one of the siege machines plowed through the opening.

_JAINA!_

**Idon'twannadie!**

There was a rumble, than an immense  _crack!_  and it felt as though someone had yanked the world out from under Jaina. She hit the ice hard on her back, smarting from the fall and squirmed over onto her hands and knees as the ground continued to shudder and jostle. Above her- mere feet from her- the siege machine rocked from side to side with the force of the tremor.

Then the glacier collapsed several meters behind the siege machines. A sinkhole formed, slushed ice sliding into the opening, and in the strange inky twilight, something deadly and familiar clambered from the pit.

"Anu'Shukhet?" whispered Jaina, breathless with amazement and joy. "Anu'Shukhet!" She had wished for something just as big and armoured as the siege machines, hadn't she? The Spiderlord turned, head up, and though she couldn't have seen Jaina from where she stood, Anu'Shukhet had certainly heard her.

She rushed the machine that had broken through Jaina's wall, hitting the vehicle with her shoulder and the full force of her charge. Wood creaked and snapped, and the Spiderlord's chitin armour screeched against iron plates. The siege machine went up on two wheels, and then over on its side. Anu'Shukhet followed it, sank both claws into the wooden undercarriage and bulled forward, tearing the axles free of their cradles, kicking and slashing, throwing shrapnel in all directions.

The second machine launched a shot at her almost point blank. Jaina saw the lead ball, saw the throwing arm release, saw the ball begin to move, and somehow she moved faster. The ball was knocked wildly off-course by a flying shard of ice. Anu'Shukhet whirled on her would-be attacker, roaring in fury, and ripped the harrow clean off the front of the machine.

"When I grow up," said Kagra, standing beside Jaina, eyes comically wide, "I wanna be  _that._ " Then she gave voice to a blood-curdling warcry, snatched up her weapons, and sprinted for the defunct siege machines. Starkweather limped up beside her.

"So you guys decided to stay and keep an eye on me, I see," said Jaina, watching Anu'Shukhet climb on top of the third siege machine. Its pilots hastily abandoned ship, for all the good it did them. Anu'Shukhet had brought friends, too.

"Well, it was that or report to Highlord Mograine that he severely under-estimated you. The Highlord doesn't take well to constructive criticism," explained the Death Knight. "We were right about the necromancer though," he added and gave a significant nod in the direction of Kel'Thuzad. She sighed.

"Yes, you were." She tried to peer behind Starkweather. "Is Xochi...?"

"He's dead. Truly dead."

"I'm sorry," she said. Starkweather patted her shoulder.

"He's at rest, Lady King. And we've a battle still to fight."

He trotted after Kagra, and Jaina called the remains of her defense squad to her. They pressed towards Kel'Thuzad's position.

The lich was in trouble. He was mostly directing the soldiers he had reanimated while his magic slowly regenerated. Normally that process would take days, but they were days Kel'Thuzad didn't have. Whenever he felt he had enough strength to make even a single frostbolt, he used it. His only other remaining weapons were the halberd he had seized, and his chains.

Jaina fought her way to him, frowning the entire time, but when she reached him and her defenders joined his, the lich sagged against his halberd, edges of his kilt settling in tattered folds against the ice. Jaina felt a twinge of relief, which she hastily crushed.

"It looks like we're-"

She didn't get a chance to finish the thought. Something in the middle of the battlefield exploded with a deafening boom, throwing up a fountain of ice and bodies, leaving a crater almost a meter deep. Before the fine red mist had settled, another explosion rocked the glacier. This time, Jaina saw the drake and its rider rising swiftly away from the carnage.

"Bombing us again," she said and took aim. The frostbolt ripped out of her hands, too fast to track with human eyes. It blew the drake apart mid-wingbeat. Jaina cleared her throat, tasting blood, and gagged. It turned into a wracking cough that drove her to her knees and left her breathless with Kel'Thuzad leaning over her, radiating concern.

"My King..."

"I'm- I'm a-all right," she stammered weakly, staring at the puddle of bloody glop in the palm of her glove.

"No, you aren't. What happened?"

She showed him the blood. "Casting hurts. Using m-my powers hurts." The lich laid one hand on her back. Jaina flinched, then relaxed, resigned. "What are you doing?"

"If we are ever allowed to continue your lessons, I will tell you that necromancy shares some skills with healing magic. Of course, it's used differently, but a necromancer can sense injury or disease."

"And?" she said, breath whistling each time she drew it.

"The Lich King's powers are killing you."

"But I  _am_ -"

"Yes. However, these spells are inherently detrimental to living flesh,  _any_ living flesh, and using them in such volume without preparation is damaging your body. Your cells are dying. Your lungs are filling with fluid. Your heartbeat is erratic. It's reversible," he added hastily, as Jaina felt herself begin to hyperventilate. "And I think in time, with training and slow, careful progression, you won't suffer any adverse effects while casting. Its a matter of you becoming accustomed to the magic and working out ways to employ it without injury. But right now, you need a healer."

"We're in the middle of a battle, of a war! I can't just stop using magic! People will die if I don't help! What if I only use the spells I learned in Dalaran?" Even before he answered, Jaina knew it was impossible.

"You  _are_  the Lich King.  _Every_  part of your magic is affected by what you are. You can't separate your magic into what is and isn't the Lich King anymore."

Jaina said nothing for a long moment, biting her lip angrily and staring into the melee. The Scourge were still out-numbered and on the defensive, without air support or safe fallback positions. She had no idea how many of the Scourge she had called and opened portals for were actually able to reach Northrend. She hadn't the concentration to stretch out her awareness and learn.

And then she had an idea.

"Kel'Thuzad," she said slowly, "tell me about the nature of this bond between yourself and the Lich King."

The lich fidgeted, twisting uncomfortably in mid-air. "What do you wish to know?"

"We can communicate telepathically, at some distance. That doesn't hurt and its part of the Lich King's powers, is it not?"

"It is, as I understand it."

"And one mage can support another during spell-casting by feeding them energy. Could we do that using the bond? Could I cast  _through_  you, safely?"

There was another distant explosion, followed by a wave of shouting and screaming. Kel'Thuzad edged away from her. "I don't know. It seems plausible."

"Then let's try." She pulled off her gloves and held out both hands. "If it hurts me, we'll know it doesn't work." Reluctantly, Kel'Thuzad put his hands in hers. The moment they touched, there was a dull hum in both their minds, and a feeling of clutter. For a moment, Jaina could hear the lich's doubts, and flutters of stray subconscious thought. Kel'Thuzad was overwhelmed by the physical sensation of pain, rolling through Jaina in waves that she ignored but were so profound to him that he tried to pull away.

But then Jaina began to cast and everything else fell away. It was like completing an electrical circuit. All of the Lich King's power, all of the knowledge, flowed from Jaina, tempered and shaped expertly by Kel'Thuzad's expansive necromantic wisdom, safely channeled through his magically-constructed, undead body.

Blackness spiraled outwards from where they stood, a sucking, oily whirlpool of death. Kel'Thuzad yanked Jaina off her feet instantly, up into the air, and they hovered inches above the mess. There was no pain, no nausea. The creeping rot melted the ice into slush, and where it came into contact with the living Vrykul, it disintegrated their leather boots and ate its way up their bodies, liquifying flesh and bone. When they tried to run, their footsteps left bloody puddles and the death oozed outwards from their prints. It left the undead alone. Jaina and Kel'Thuzad levitated as the black muck killed every living thing within a ten meter radius.

It stopped spreading eventually and sank into the ice, leaving piles of bones behind.

"No, we can't do that again," she said quickly, "we have living allies. Anu'Shukhet and her warriors came to our aid. I won't kill them accidentally."

"Yes, my King," murmured the lich. Jaina questioned his emotional state for a brief second and received a flash of wonder, and absolution. She withdrew her curiosity. It seemed invasive, definitely rude, no matter who he was.

"Focus on-"

One moment she was locked in a strangely peaceful duality with the lich, hovering above the glacier. The next, the world had become a chaos of light and sound and heat, and she was flat on her back with something hard beneath her, digging into her spine. She was in a crater, had been thrown there or slid there when the bombs landed one after the other, half-covered with the twisted wreck of a siege machine. Blinded by the brilliance of the explosion, Jaina blinked and fumbled about herself, trying to sit up. She found she couldn't. There was something heavy on her abdomen pinning her down. It hurt when she strained forward.

"Maybe can... push it off..." she mumbled to herself, dazed, her ears ringing and her head pounding. She reached forward, shoving at the object holding her fast. Light flared up, fire from another explosion, and Jaina saw what she was pushing against.

It was a splinter of wood as big around as her bicep and longer than she was tall. It was pierced through her stomach and into the ice behind. Jaina stared in disbelief, mind racing in circles as she watched her lavendar battle dress quickly turn burgundy.

"Shit..." she breathed, "Help... I need a healer...!" Her voice was little more than a whisper. "Help!"

_JAINA!_

**Kel'Thuzad... I'm stuck. There's a-**  She stared at the piece of lumber jammed through her body. His reaction reverberated through the bond and she knew he saw what she saw.  **I need a healer** , she stated, matter-of-factly. Then she passed out.

A peculiar sensation jolted her awake. Later, when she described it, she would call it pain. Right then, it wasn't so much pain as it was an uncomfortable pressure, a sense of displacement around the intrusion in her body.

She whimpered, eyes sliding shut on the edge of a swoon. Something tapped her cheek and she blinked rapidly, startled, grimacing at the horrible sensation below her ribs. Then her eyes focused. "No!" she choked, "No, please, don't-!"

"Don't what?" rasped Kel'Thuzad, inches from her face. "Am I hurting you, Master?" Jaina tried to pull away and realized he had one hand pressed hard against her stomach, the other behind her neck. She froze.

"P-p-please don't kill me," she whispered, shivering uncontrollably.

"I'm trying to  _help_  you," he said. Jaina struggled weakly. It was useless; Kel'Thuzad's grip on her was like iron, but she continued to squirm stubbornly. "Jaina, stop. You'll make it worse and neither of us can heal. Stop. I'm  _not_  going to kill you. Now just... hold on, and try to stay awake." She realized the hand crushing against her stomach was holding a wad of cloth, once violet, now black with blood in the perpetual twilight. Jaina stared, aghast at the sheer, sticky crimson volume that soaked the cloth, and the snow, and the lich's bony hands.

"I'm dying," she breathed, chilled by the reality of the moment. "You wanted this, didn't you? Came with me so you could- could be here and become the Lich King when I died?"

"Dammit, Jaina, no. Shut up and conserve your energy." Kel'Thuzad yanked at the fabric, pulling a clean handful over her belly, and she saw it was his kilt.

"I don't understand," she said, "Why are you doing this?"

"You do understand," he said gently, "You saw everything through the bond, if you looked." Jaina grimaced as a wave of queasiness washed through her and her vision darkened. Kel'Thuzad wanted knowledge, and she had given it to him when they cast together, more freely than his previous master, and less painfully. "Jaina, stay awake."

"Okay," she murmured, eyelids sliding shut. "My mouth is cold..." Kel'Thuzad slapped her and she yelped.

"Stay awake! I don't want to be the Lich King, and I don't want to work for some ravening idiot! Or worse yet, another  _paladin_!"

"Ow," she said, reproachful and disoriented, and rolled her eyes to look up at Kel'Thuzad. He was mostly expressionless but Jaina blinked and she could sense desperate concern there. Then he turned and she found herself staring up through his lower jaw.

"HEALER!" bellowed the lich, and turned back to her. "Hold on, Jaina. Stay awake."

"I'm trying," she said and gulped a quantity of blood. "Uck. Kel'Thuzad?" she queried softly. He fumbled beside himself and pulled up another panel of his kilt, hurriedly pressing it around the wooden stake. Jaina whimpered as his knuckles ground into her ribs. "Kel'Thuzad?"

"What is it?"

"The stuff I saw... through the bond... I don't remember seeing it but I know I did..."

"Keep talking. HEALER!"

"I always wondered why you had a High Elven name, even back when you were still human..."

"Well, now you know."

"Sylvanas was... right. And you kept it." She could hear her voice growing weaker. "For all the terrible things you... you helped Arthas to do, you did... some good things... too. You're... really only about seventy percent evil." It was almost too much effort to keep breathing and darkness was folding in around her. "Oh, Light... oh..."

"Jaina?"

"...it hurts. I'm cold."

"HEALER! Damn you Imuruk! I know you're here! Where are you when I  _really_  need you? Jaina, Master, keep breathing, keep your eyes open." It was taking all her will to move air into her lungs. Her vision had faded to a pinpoint. She was limp in Kel'Thuzad's arms, her limbs cold and too heavy to lift.

"I don't want to die," Jaina breathed, and began to cry. "It's so stupid," she sobbed, "we- together- we just obliterated like, a hundred people, but neither of us, for all that power, we can't... save me."

"Don't give up, Master, please." He pulled her close and Jaina didn't recoil. He was just as cold as she, and there was comfort in the contact despite his skeletal embrace. She had the strength to smile.

"Thank you, Kel'Thuzad," she said, so quietly he barely heard her, "I can't... keep... my eyes..."

"No! No, no, Jaina, no- Jaina! Jaina! HEALER, dammit, I need a healer! NOW! HEALER!"

There was a distant scratching sound on the ice at the edge of the crater and a spindly shadow appeared on the lip. "Oh! Kel'thu- er, Kazimir- whoa! Spell wore off-"

"Imuruk, shut up and help the Lady King!" The shaman scrambled over the rubble and stared. The lich was sitting awkwardly in the dirty snow, a bloom of gory scarlet spreading out beneath him, and clutched to his chest was the Lich King. His kilt was saturated with blood, tangled and waded over Jaina's body, and then he saw the broken spar sticking out of her stomach.

"Oh dear me!"

"Yes, exactly, now get to work! She's barely breathing!"

"Of course, of course." Imuruk crouched beside them and laid all four hands on Jaina's body. "She's... she's badly hurt."

"Just heal her!"

"I will. I am." Imuruk shifted to cradle the Lich King, Kel'Thuzad relinquishing his hold on her.

The moment he did, a bolt of pure golden light shot out of the darkness and smashed into the lich, throwing him up the incline on the other side of the crater. He landed in a heap and leaped into the air, hissing furiously.

"You will not hurt her!" he snarled, dredging up the minute shreds of magic he had left.

"No," replied a familiar voice, and Tirion Fordring stepped into the light of a burning catapult, "But I will hurt  _you_."


	11. Kaamos (Part 2)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ('Kaamos' is the Finnish word for the one day of the year where, at certain latitudes, the sun doesn't rise above the horizon and there is a night without day.)

 

 

"Hurt me?" snarled Kel'Thuzad, "Where are your priorities, paladin? Jaina is  _dying_! Use your powers to save her!" He stabbed a finger towards the crater where Imuruk worked feverishly over Jaina's still form. Green-white light coursed from his hands. "You can kill me temporarily after that, if you  _really_  must," added Kel'Thuzad, voice heavy with sarcasm.

 

Tirion glanced from the lich to Jaina, frowning beneath his mustache, and heaved a sigh. "No," he said finally, "that would accomplish nothing." He sheathed the Ashbringer in the scabbard at his back. "Do I have your word, lich, sworn on your Master's life, that you won't attack me when I go to her?"

"Yes," growled Kel'Thuzad, "You have my word."

"Keep the Vrykul off of us," ordered Tirion, though it sounded more like a threat. Kel'Thuzad eyed the Ashbringer hungrily.

"That would be much easier if I had a weapon," he suggested. Tirion glared and his fists tightened reflexively.

"Never!" he said, then spat, "You're a clever bastard. You'll figure something out." He skidded down the crater wall to join Imuruk. Kel'Thuzad paced along the edge above them, electric with anxiety. His mental shields were still inactive, and the link to Jaina remained, though faint and tenuous. She was unconscious, and that was all he knew. There was absolutely nothing he could do, except what Fordring had asked, so he watched and he paced.

In the pit, Imuruk had trimmed the splinter until only inches protruded from Jaina's abdomen, and cut open layers of clothes to assess the damage. The length of wood had penetrated at an angle, driven into her right side just centimeters below her ribcage, and out her back, barely missing her spine. Any higher and it would have punctured her lung; any closer to her mid-line and it might have severed her spinal column. As it was, most of the damage was to her small intestine. Although she had lost a significant quantity of blood, Kel'Thuzad had seen living creatures survive such wounds when they were tended effectively.

Veteran of many battlefields and numerous anatomical experiments though he was, the lich looked away. It was one thing to delve into the biological machinery of a nameless specimen, or to maim an enemy. It was another thing entirely to see someone he knew and respected, someone whole and vivacious, suddenly still and imperfect and helpless. There was something hideously profane in seeing Jaina so broken.

Imuruk did not look up when Fordring joined him. The paladin quickly investigated Jaina's wound with his magic, and found the contents of her veins and arteries around the injury frozen solid, effectively stopping her bleeding.

"Innovative," he said to the Nerubian, impressed.

"It wasn't me," mumbled Imuruk. Tirion glanced up the grade in time to see Kel'Thuzad pounce on an encroaching Vrykul warrior, claws first, with no regard for finesse. "It worked, but not without doing further damage. The ice crystals are sharp. They've ruptured her blood cells and punctured arterial tissue. It's also lowering her body temperature too much. She's hypothermic." Tirion swore under his breath. "It's all he could think of to do," said Imuruk quietly. "He's no healer. And it may have saved her life."

"We can fix it," grunted the paladin. "That thoughtless fool. She's still bleeding from somewhere."

"Found it," said Imuruk a beat later, "The spear clipped her liver." There was a burst of green-white light and Jaina took a deep shuddering breath, but remained unconscious. "I've started repairing the wound," murmured the shaman, "Your holy light can purify the effect of undeath in her body, but we need to move her somewhere warm as soon as we can." Tirion nodded grimly, hands aglow in a warm golden halo.

The worst fighting shifted location, moving away from the heavily bombed area in front of the Citadel where Jaina lay. With the local Vrykul subdued, Kel'Thuzad descended into the crater, hovering watchfully near the paladin and the shaman.

"I've got the ice out, and stabilized the damage for now," panted Imuruk, "We need to move her. We need to get her warm."

"Into the Citadel," replied Fordring, "at least we'll have walls and a roof."

"Keep her still. I'm going to cut the spear out of the ice." The splinter had sunk a good six inches into the glacier. Jaina's warm blood had melted the surface, but it took Imuruk's fire totem to slush the rest deep enough for him to reach the splinter. He sheared the wood close to Jaina's back.

"You carry her, shaman," instructed Tirion, drawing the Ashbringer once again. "Kel'Thuzad! Help me cover them to the Citadel." Imuruk scooped Jaina easily into his arms, carefully supporting her so that the wound didn't jostle.

As they reached the top of the broken stairway, the world became suddenly darker. No sun had risen on the solstice, though reflected rays still crept over the horizon, illuminating the glacial landscape in perpetual twilight. Now, there was something else in the sky, blackening the melee below.

"It can't be...!" said Kel'Thuzad, craning back to look at the massive structure floating above the ice.

"No," said Tirion, taking a brief moment to glance skyward, "it isn't. It's Acherus. My  _gods!_  What have you done?"

"What have  _I_  done? I can't do  _this_ ," retorted Kel'Thuzad, eyes flashing. Then he turned suddenly, as though he heard something, and squinted west. Another ponderous blot appeared against the violet sky, one that despite its distance dwarfed the edifice overhead. "No, it was Jaina," he said, awed, "she called the Scourge.  _All_  of the Scourge! The treacherous Knights of the Ebon Blade may not be under her command, but their  _fortress is_! Hahahahahaha!"

Fordring looked stricken as they reached the top of the shattered stairway, and started across the plinth towards the doors. "She couldn't have..." he murmured. Kel'Thuzad was still fixed on the smashed but airborne form of Naxxramas.

"You have no concept of what she can do," he sneered, "She is a demi-god. Bow to her, Tirion Fordring, for you are lucky to live and breath in the same age as the Lich King." An arrow shot between them before Tirion could reply, flew through Kel'Thuzad's rib-cage and bounced off the underside of his shoulder-blade. Another followed, which the paladin batted out of the air with his sword.

"Time to go inside," Tirion said hastily. Imuruk scrambled between the opening doors as the clamour of armoured soldiers came up the stairs. Kel'Thuzad whirled, frigid lightning crackling between his claws. Fordring raised the Ashbringer and charged, swinging the magnificent sword two-handed, battering through shields and armour in a destructive arc. He parried a mace, then recoiled as Kel'Thuzad blew the attacker apart, a hail of red ice pinging off the paladin's armour.

"Stay out here," ordered Fordring, frowning in disgust. "Keep them off of us, as long as your vile magic holds out."

Kel'Thuzad bristled. "If she dies, Tirion, I will make  _you_  suffer for it."

"If she dies, it is the will of the Light! Doubtless it would be a release from this horror," Fordring retorted.

"Before I come for you, I'll find out where your wife and son are buried, and I'll-"

"You would dare-!"

" _If_  you're finished," interrupted Imuruk mildly, "I could use some help in here." The lich and the paladin glared at each other, then Tirion sheathed the Ashbringer and stomped inside. Kel'Thuzad snatched up a greatsword lying abandoned on the plinth and resumed pacing, half-hoping someone might come and try his temper.

Five minutes without a Vrykul incursion passed, then ten. Kel'Thuzad gave up his restless prowling and hovered motionless, watching and listening. The battle had moved off further still, drawn away by the sudden reinforcements Jaina had summoned behind enemy lines. He couldn't tell if she were somehow still directing them despite being unconscious, but it hardly mattered. The Vrykul were over-matched and out-manned now.

A flurry of action caught the lich's attention. He looked up to see a stream of skeletal gryphons descend from the Ebon Hold, captained by a lean figure dressed all in black. They circled above the melee, occasionally dispensing a flash of magic or glint of steel, but not directly involving themselves in the battle otherwise. They were searching for something, he realized.

Two of the Vrykul drake riders saw them as well. The pair swooped down from the heights above Icecrown, couching lances as they closed in. They were moving so quickly and silently that the Ebon Blade didn't have time to register their presence before the drakes swept across their line, impaling two unlucky riders, belching acid on those who avoided the direct charge. Kel'Thuzad was too far off to hear what their leader bellowed, but half the wing circled back and began to climb after the pair. He lost sight of them behind the Citadel.

A moment later they reappeared, drakes easily out-distancing the skeletal gryphons. One of them dropped lower, flying parallel to the ground, its rider firing and reloading a crossbow as he sat backwards on his mount. The other continued to climb until it was a speck. The Ebon Blade chased the low-flying drake criss-cross the battlefield until it ran afoul of a flaming catapult shot from one of the Vrykul's own machines. Kel'Thuzad found the remaining drake at the apex of its climb, then watched as it turned over, closed its wings, and dove. It appeared to be heading straight for the catapult that had shot down its companion.

Something twice the size of the plagued drake and faster than Kel'Thuzad's magical vision could follow shot out of the darkness and collided messily with it. For a brief moment, the two fliers were entangled, indistinguishable, moving violently sideways, then the intruder released its prey, opened its own tattered wings and soared away, screaming triumph. The Ebon Blade hastily broke pursuit as the frostwyrm banked over the waning battle.

"Kel'Thuzad." The lich brought his focus back to earth at the sound of his name. He approached the top of the stairway to stare down at the figure dressed in black.  _Was he searching for me?_

"I don't suppose you're here to complain about the sudden change in weather, Highlord Mograine?"

"I should have killed you when I had the chance," hissed Darion Mograine.

"When was that?"

The Lord of the Ebon Hold glowered beneath his helmet, radiating hatred.

"I suppose you must mean when you invaded my necropolis and got your entire party slaughtered. Was that your chance?" He glided closer to the Death Knight, trailing the tip of his sword across the pitted stone with a dull screech. " _Guess who_  I used to rebuild all those ghouls and abominations you destroyed...!"

Mograine's eyes narrowed. "Killing the Lich King revenged the Ebon Blade," he snarled, "but this is personal." The Death Knight advanced, dual swords held ready. Kel'Thuzad had no illusions about Mograine's prowess with those blades. His own inexperience with melee weapons, coupled with the current state of his magic would dictate he attempt some kind of diplomacy, but Kel'Thuzad's pride refused to allow him to be cowed by the Death Knight.  _I trained you, whelp!_

"I seem to remember the last time you came after me with a sword, you ended up impaling yourself. Do two swords improve the odds of one ending up in me?"

"I sacrificed my own soul that day to free my father's from your grasp!" spat Mograine, riled up and teetering on apoplectic. He gestured with one blade, grip shaking with fury. "You love  _nothing_! You will never understand why I did what I did!"

"It baffles me more what you hope to accomplish right now."

Mograine firmed his grip on the pair of runeblades, and laughed. "You're alone, your magic is drained, and that sword won't last one parry before I strike it out of your grip!" Then he charged. Kel'Thuzad blinked out of the way, whirled and smashed the long blade across Mograine's shoulders with a clang. The Death Knight stoically took the blow and, true to his word, caught Kel'Thuzad's next offensive on the crosspiece of his left blade, twisted, and yanked the greatsword out of the lich's grasp. Mograine's grin of triumph was interrupted as Kel'Thuzad shot him three times in rapid succession. The frostbolts dented his armour and made him stagger, but Kel'Thuzad's magic was too exhausted to punch through steel anymore.

"Pathetic!" snarled the Death Knight, and lunged forward to close with Kel'Thuzad. The lich's reach was his greatest asset in a one-on-one fight, and that included the length of the whirling chains that now strung themselves across Mograine's path at ankle height. He tripped, and chose to go down into a roll rather than take precious seconds to regain his balance. Kel'Thuzad was there when he came back up, grabbed the chain with both hands and slammed the taut links against Mograine's throat hard enough to knock him back down. Had he been living, the blow would have crushed his windpipe and suffocated him.

Before the lich had a chance to follow up, Mograine twisted sideways and shot to his feet behind Kel'Thuzad, jamming the point of one sword into the base of his spine.

Kel'Thuzad's reaction was purely instinctive. He yelped despite the fact he felt nothing, but it brought a feral gleam to Mograine's eye and he struck a second time. The third was brought up short as Kel'Thuzad managed to snag his wrist in the binding chains and pulled, yanking the struggling Death Knight several feet into the air. Mograine kicked him with all the force he could summon. His first blow fractured the lich's sternum; the second broke a rib. Kel'Thuzad shuddered backwards, letting Mograine fall, and put one hand to his chest.

"You can't truly hurt me," he rasped, glaring at Mograine as he backed away, trying to put some distance between them to gain an advantage.

"Doesn't matter," said Mograine darkly, "This is making me feel so much better." Kel'Thuzad lashed out with his chains and this time Mograine turned aside, blades held upright as the links circled back to snare him. He snapped forward, swords sawing against the magical bindings. For a brief moment their strength was balanced, then Mograine roared with fury and the restraints broke, the Death Knight's runeblades exploding through disintegrating metal, and Kel'Thuzad recoiled, weaponless. The chains retracted and lay inanimate over his shoulders.

Mograine spun his blades victoriously. "Is that all?" he said mockingly.

"Aren't you curious why Acherus was brought here?" said Kel'Thuzad, deciding it was time to fall back on diplomacy.

"I can be curious when you're dust," replied Mograine and leapt at the lich, stabbing with both swords. Kel'Thuzad feinted retreat, then struck forward with one taloned hand. Mograine brought his swords up, catching the lich's wrist between them, then twisted aside as Kel'Thuzad lashed out with his other hand. The action dragged Kel'Thuzad with him as he turned, leaving the lich vulnerable for a split second. Mograine didn't waste the opportunity. He whirled back, twisting Kel'Thuzad's arm behind his back and jammed his sword between the metacarpals, pinning the lich's hand, palm up, to the stone.

"You're wasting your-"

Mograine raised his heel and stomped, breaking Kel'Thuzad's arm at the elbow. Kel'Thuzad hissed and jerked away, magic weaves popping and sparking along the damaged limb. Darion followed him as he backed towards the Citadel doors.

"You're wasting your strength, and my time," Kel'Thuzad rasped angrily, shoving open the door with his functioning hand. "Fordring! Talk some sense into this boy!" he hollered, and watched confusion replace smugness on Mograine's face.

"What's going on? Highlord Mograine! You've come to..." The paladin's voice trailed off as he took in the condition of the two combatants. "Kel'Thuzad! You thrice-damned-"

"The Highlord made his priorities quite clear," returned Kel'Thuzad acidly, "He was interested only in dueling me."

"What else is there?" shouted Mograine, "Why are you standing there, Fordring? Help me destroy this villain!"

"Jaina's been gravely injured," responded Tirion, "Believe me, it goes against everything I stand for to allow Kel'Thuzad to survive a moment longer, but while Jaina's life hangs in the balance, and without his phylactery, we must focus on helping her." Mograine glanced from Fordring, to the form on the floor presided over by a rather frightened Imuruk, back to Kel'Thuzad, and swore.

"Well, what is he doing here?" snapped the Death Knight finally.

"He was watching the door for us," said Fordring patiently. "Since it seems you've rendered him incapable of fulfilling that duty, perhaps you could take over."

"I'm not incapable-" began Kel'Thuzad indignantly.

"Why? Why should I?" shouted Mograine, still furious. "You fought in the war, you saw the atrocities the Lich King committed, but you never had to  _participate_! That  _thing_ made me- made us all- do unspeakable deeds, things that haunt me to this day! Why should I do anything to help her?"

"Darion," said Fordring, beseechingly, "this is  _Jaina_. She isn't cruel, or misguided. She bears this power with resignation, not arrogance. And if she dies, I know not where that power may next alight. So please, see to the door!" The old paladin turned back to his patient and knelt. Imuruk, who had been half-curled protectively over Jaina's body, drew back cautiously, gaze flicking between Kel'Thuzad and Mograine.

Finally, the Death Knight stalked silently to the crack of darkness between the doors, throwing Kel'Thuzad one last poisonous glance. Kel'Thuzad ignored him and moved to peer over Imuruk's shoulder.

"How is she?" he asked. One of Tirion's eyebrows went up but he said nothing.

"Strong," answered Imuruk, "By all odds, she should be dead, but at every potentially fatal moment, she's simply  _refused_  to die. She's quite incredible, really."

"Will there be permanent damage?"

"Not if you leave us alone and let us work," said Imuruk. Kel'Thuzad growled half-heartedly. Imuruk turned his head a fraction and gave the lich a quick appraisal. "What about you?"

"Get back to work," grunted Kel'Thuzad.

* * *

Jaina's world was a jumble of disconnected images, bursts of muffled sound, and instants of breath-taking agony. Fighting the chaos of information was useless. She would drown like this, inundated with voices and sensations and fear and fury.  _It feels like the moment when I took in the Lich King's powers. Is this... the opposite? Am I dying?_ But it didn't feel like death. It was too frenetic, too desperate. And too warm.

_I need to regain control. Light, I hope this doesn't hurt._

She concentrated, struggling to narrow her focus on individual details. She was aware of people, many, many people.  _The Scourge._  They moved like hunting wolves, pressing the blurry dark souls of the Vrykul between them, pursuing, cornering, bring them to bay. She followed one group. The little bright specks swarmed in her vision, aware of her will as a passive presence in each of their minds. They received her enthusiastically.

As she rode along with the Scourge, her anxiety settled. She realized she was breathing, and felt her heart labouring in her chest. The terrifying numbness had withdrawn from her limbs, and there was a pleasant well of warmth in her gut, spreading strength and comfort throughout her body. She sensed herself growing stronger and the Scourge felt it to. She brought herself closer, tentatively sinking into the mind of one skeletal warrior, viewing the on-going battle through its magical vision.

It wasn't a very useful perspective. Jaina withdrew and searched for a gargoyle. She ended up finding something much more impressive. The frostwyrm had been struck by a catapult shot and taken offense to the nick in it's keeled breastbone, turning its boundless rage on every wooden, projectile-flinging structure it could find. It ignored the Scourge, and as Jaina watched, it ignored Anu'Shukhet as well, whom Jaina spied leading her squad through a breach in the last catapult line.  _Yes, she's a friend,_  thought Jaina encouragingly. The wyrm had a fleeting spark of confusion.  _What do you mean a small friend?_

Jaina urged the frostwyrm to take flight again and they circled the melee. The Vrykul were in irreparable disarray, rivers of summoned undead cutting through their battle lines. The plagued drakes, those that remained, had pulled back to support the groups retaining commanders. Jaina and the frostwyrm swooped in, talons spreading, projecting a deafening scream in defiance of all subtlety. Beneath them, the drakes and mammoths looked like dogs, the Vrykul like scattering fleas. Jaina's awe triggered a passing moment of pride in the undead dragon. Arrows and spears ricocheted off its skeletal body uselessly, and Jaina left the frostwyrm wreaking havoc on the thickest knot of Vrykul that remained.

She slipped back into her own mind, tired from the mental piggy-back, and relaxed into the warm healing magic.  _I won't die._

Eventually, Jaina began to wake. It was a slow process, and she had no doubt it was being dragged out and monitored by healers to ensure she was physically ready. When she came to, she found herself swathed in soft fabric and the scent of delicious food. She didn't open her eyes immediately. The last she remembered was being cold, dying, and uncomfortable and before she learned what had happened, she was going to enjoy this one good thing.

"Jaina?" said Tirion. Jaina squeezed her eyes shut tighter, wincing. Even through her eyelids, the light was painfully intrusive and Tirion's voice was grating, too loud despite his gentle tone.  _It's like the mother of all hang-overs,_  she whimpered to herself.

"Ungh," she groaned thickly. The reverberation in her throat from the sound made her headache worse.

"Ah! There you are," smiled Tirion. Jaina cringed again when he spoke and the contraction of muscles spawned a chain reaction of cramps from her jaw, down her neck, and across her chest. Her diaphragm seized and she took a stuttering gasp.

"Sh!" she whispered hurriedly, "quiet. Please." She grimaced at her gravelly voice, but the more she talked the easier it became and the further her headache receded. "Everything... is too bright. And loud," she explained. She heard Tirion's armour click, and then the light vanished.

"Better?" he said softly. Jaina cleared her throat. Her head was still pounding.

"Yes. Thank you. Um." She slowly opened her eyes to the dark room. Across the foot of her bed lay Dreilide, tail thumping happily. Tirion was a shadow against the blackness of her chamber, but behind him, hovering near the closed door, was Kel'Thuzad. The phosphorescent blue mist that filled his rib-cage and skull stood out plainly in the room, though the illumination was too subtle to irritate her. Jaina stared for a long moment. The two men appeared now exactly as they would in her arcane sight under the Helm, the living a featureless shadow, the undead a guttering light. Clearly they had reached some kind of truce during her convalescence, but for the time being Jaina was not interested in the politics.

"Do you need anything?" asked Tirion.

"I'm thirsty, please," said Jaina. "And hungry." Whatever smelled so good wasn't in evidence anywhere in her room. She slowly pushed herself upright as Tirion reached to the bedside table for a pitcher and glass. The aches in her muscles flared and faded as she squirmed into a better position to accept the cup from the paladin. As she drank, she glanced over the rim from Tirion to Kel'Thuzad, feeling a little self-conscious.

"So, what happened?" she asked. Tirion related the progression of the battle after she was incapacitated, having gathered information from a mixed host of messengers over the past several hours. He told her of the single enormous frostwyrm which had taken up residence on the very peak of Icecrown Citadel. He spoke of the impossible arrival of Acherus. He explained that the Vrykul had been routed northwest, and several dozen had surrendered to a group of feisty adventurers.

"They are too few and too disorganized now to mount any further assault," said Fordring triumphantly. "I suggest when you have the strength that you capture the rest and put them under arrest to curb any further attacks."

Jaina shook her head minutely. "No. I'll leave them be. I meant to repel them, not exterminate their people. Besides, I have no place to put so many prisoners." For the first time, Kel'Thuzad spoke, moving towards her bedside.

"My King, this is unwise. Destroy them while they're weak. Leave them to plot and grow vengeful, and you will only find yourself fighting this battle all over again in ten years."

" _No_ ," said Jaina as vehemently as her headache would allow, "No destruction. They've a right to live here too, miserable as they may be."

"Your mercy will be your un-doing," returned the lich, arms crossed stubbornly over his chest. Jaina glimpsed a neatly tied bandage around his left elbow and the irregular pulse of damaged spellwork beneath. A single strip of fabric looped over his shoulder, suspending his forearm in a sling. Tirion turned a disapproving glare on Kel'Thuzad.

"We need to deal with  _him_  as soon as possible too, Jaina. His conduct with myself and Highlord Mograine has been reprehensible. Darion wants to kill him repeatedly until he gets tired of resurrecting. I would imprison him until we can find his phylactery. What is your will?"

Jaina's head ached too much to employ logical thought for any length of time. But emotion was less difficult. She remembered her own magic trying to tear her apart. Only through her link to Kel'Thuzad had she been able to cast without endangering herself. And she remembered the inescapable terror when she found herself impaled on the ice, the despair and panic, and the lich trying ineffectually to aid her.

She looked up at Kel'Thuzad. "What happened to you?" she asked, indicating his damaged elbow.

"Highlord Mograine and I had a disagreement," he explained drily.

"I see."

"My King, I am-"

"Completely and utterly loyal," she interrupted, "to the Lich King, no matter who that is." She paused and he made no attempt to speak before she continued, "I abhor the things you did in service to my predecessor. I recognize that you must have an apatite for cruelty and an over-whelming dispassion for most living beings to willingly carry out the orders you were given. And yet, you had an opportunity to abandon me on the battlefield, and you didn't. Why?"

"I couldn't let you die."

"Even though I do not share your moral standpoint, and you believe undeath is a superior state, especially for a mage?"

" _I_  believe this, Master. But you don't."

Jaina nodded. "Thank you." Then she turned to Tirion. "Kel'Thuzad will remain in the Citadel. He will never be allowed to leave. His sole purpose will be to teach me the foundations of necromancy, and assist me in exploring how I might wield the Lich King's magic without harming myself. In the event that his phylactery is located, and he has exhausted his function as my instructor, I will relinquish him to your custody and you may exact whatever justice you deem righteous."

The lich's grip on his injured elbow tightened abruptly, but he said nothing. Tirion didn't notice the motion; he nodded slowly.

"All right," he said, "I can accept that. Let me speak to Highlord Mograine. He's not going to be quite as amenable." Jaina nodded. "There is one other issue that requires your urgent input."

"What is it?"

"Valkyr," he said. "They were accomplished battle-maidens and sorceresses of the Vrykul, killed and resurrected by Arthas as personal guardians. They've sent an emissary. They acknowledge you as the Lich King, but apparently they were torn between aiding you and aiding their brethren in the battle, and took neither side. They would like to meet with you and discuss a treaty of some kind. For themselves only, not the Vrykul."

"Tell them I am willing to talk," she said, somewhat curiously. The paladin nodded.

"As soon as you are able," he said and stood, throwing a wary glance at Kel'Thuzad. "You must rest," he said to Jaina, "and rebuild your strength naturally." She nodded obediently and Tirion left the room.

"Let me see your arm," said Jaina to Kel'Thuzad when the door closed. The lich didn't move from where he stood.

"When are you going to hand me over to Fordring and Mograine's righteous justice?" he asked coldly.

"You heard what I decreed," she replied evenly, "I have no intention of releasing you to either of them."

Kel'Thuzad clenched his good hand into a fist. "Jaina, you  _know_  where my phylactery is," he whispered, "don't you." The link between them vibrated with fear and betrayal, and Jaina sat up.

"Yes, I do," said Jaina cautiously. "While we were casting together through the link, I... I saw so much of your life. I suppose you saw mine too, if you looked." She hesitated. "It wasn't a tactical decision; I was just curious. I didn't know I would actually find it." The lich took over Tirion's chair shakily, resting his elbows on the bed. "It's ingenious, really. As long as Azeroth needs a Lich King to control the Scourge, you can't be killed."

"Except right now. Because you  _took_  the power, rather than succumb to it, as it was meant to pass."

Jaina sat back. "Kel'Thuzad, even if I told Tirion where and  _what_  it is, I doubt he would destroy it. Not because he doesn't want you dead, but because we know so little about the Lich King's powers and can't predict what might happen. Mograine would do it, though. But I have need of both you and your phylactery, so I will keep your secret. You have my word."

He relaxed, and the tension between them subsided. "Perhaps I was wrong about your mercy," said Kel'Thuzad, and bowed his head, projecting a depth of gratitude and humility Jaina would have thought him incapable of feeling. She touched his fingertips with her own.

"Let me worry about mercy. Much as it bothers me, your talents lie elsewhere. Now, how did Mograine manage to break your arm?"

He straightened up. "I'm a terrible melee fighter."

"Imuruk can't fix it?"

"He was exhausted after working on you, but he tried." Kel'Thuzad tugged on the end of the sling, tied in a cheerful bow. Jaina suppressed a chuckle. "Speaking of Imuruk, he's made you dinner. Shall I fetch him, my King?"

"Dinner? I've missed an entire day?"

" _Three_ days, my King."

"Oh dear. Yes, please," she said weakly. The thought of food made her stomach grumble.

"There are also a number of letters for you," continued Kel'Thuzad, rising from his seat, "arrived over the past few days. Most of them appear to be from around Northrend. One of them is from Stormwind, though, and one of them from Theramore. Talsen's been holding them for you."

"He survived? I'm glad. Have him bring them, and light a lamp, please. I think reading in the dark will only make my head ache worse," she said. Kel'Thuzad gestured to an empty sconce beside the door and coldflame blossomed inside the ironwork. "Give me ten minutes to prepare myself, then send him in," she said, reaching across for her hairbrush on the bedside table.

"Jaina-"

"If I feel reading is too overwhelming, I'll stop and rest."

"There were some things your healers couldn't fix," said Kel'Thuzad hastily. Jaina pulled the brush through her hair and stopped, looking at the locks from the corner of her eye. "Imuruk said your skin and fingernails would return to their normal colour more quickly than-"

"My hair is white."

"And your eyes are glowing."

"Oh, gods, really?"

"Yes."

"Pass me that looking glass." She pointed to a disc of polished metal on the desk and Kel'Thuzad did as she asked. Jaina peered at herself. "Oh," she said weakly. Her eyes had turned colourless, with a blue tint radiating from beneath her pale lashes. "Oh." She blinked rapidly. "Is that going to go away too?"

"I don't think so."

Jaina sighed. "Great. All right. Send me Talsen and his letters."

"Yes, my King," said Kel'Thuzad with a nod and swept out of the room.

For several minutes, Jaina was alone, staring at her image in the looking-glass.  _I wonder how my eyes glow? Is it some sort of physiological effect, or purely arcane?_ She pinched her too-pale cheek and felt relieved when a pink spot bloomed on the skin.

There was a sharp knock and Talsen entered, carrying a flat leather satchel. The ghoul looked somewhat worse for wear, but Jaina was cheered to see her spells still in good working order.

"Lady King," he said, with a bow. He emptied the contents of the satchel onto the bed.

"Thank you," she said, sifting through the letters and selecting the one bearing a smudged Theramore imprint. "Please bring me parchment, ink, and a plume."

"Yes, Lady King." The ghoul left and Jaina cracked the sealing wax. She drew out the letter and unfolded it. As soon as she did, she was confused.  _This is Tandred's hand-writing. What is my brother doing in Theramore?_

_My dear sister,_ she read and smiled,  _I hear terrible stories about the recent events you faced in Northrend. Most of these are probably fiction, or small truths exaggerated all out of proportion, but I still fear for your safety and well-being, though I can almost hear you telling me not to worry._

_At first I expected you to find some way to throw off the curse you've been dealt. When it didn't come, I waited in fear. Everywhere there were whispers that you would be corrupted. Jaina, I know you. I know you would fight like a cornered cat against that evil. Woe be to any who should try to control you! Then they said you were mad. It was a constructive madness though, and then I knew you were well._

_But Theramore floundered without you. The people are capable, yet they were used to your wisdom and direction._

_You've always done what was needed. As your brother I know those decisions were not always easy to make, and not always fearless. I remember finding you crying in the barn after you announced you wanted to go to Dalaran. It was the right choice, but it hurt you to leave Kul Tiras. I was happy when you founded Theramore because it was another coast and it must have felt something like home._

_I made a decision, Jaina. His Highness King Varian Wrynn concurred when I proposed it to him. I have transferred leadership of Kul Tiras to its people. They're holding an election to choose a mayor next month._

Jaina made a noise of equal parts surprise and delight.

_I'm in Theramore as I write this, sister. I've assumed your rule, and I am striving to do right by the people of the city, as you would want. They are cheered to have a Proudmoore among them again, I think, though they clearly miss you._

_I pray this letter finds you safe, and that you may write back to tell me not to worry. Sincerely, your brother, Tandred Proudmoore._

Jaina laid the letter down with a fond expression. She hadn't thought of Tandred in months, so preoccupied had she been with the war and her own personal strife. Had he taken any of the fleet with him to Theramore? Or had he left them in Kul Tiras, to the remarkable new government he had nurtured? She wondered if he was enjoying the lack of snow, and if the unruly winter seas had given him trouble. Yes, this would be the first letter she answered.

Then she opened the envelope from Stormwind and began to read.

* * *

"I can't put it off any longer, Darion," Jaina argued. They were standing just outside the Citadel doors, watching Starkweather and a work crew fix the stairs. "It's been a week since I received the letter and sent a reply assuring King Wrynn I would visit Stormwind in person. It would be rude to make him wait much more."

"Tirion says you're still recovering," said the Death Knight, nodding to the wooden cane she gripped with both hands. "You're only just able to stand again." It was true. The muscles in her abdomen that had been destroyed by the shrapnel were still regenerating and weak. Jaina hadn't realized how much she used them to simply sit upright, nevermind stand or walk. "And what will you tell Wrynn when you arrive? That you're no threat because you aren't Arthas? He was a  _paladin_ , and look what this power did to him."

"You were a paladin as well, if memory serves. And I think we've established that I am in control of the Lich King, not the other way around," she replied. Darion's sullen expression didn't change. "King Wrynn is an impatient man, and a warrior. I'm sure he's wondering why I don't just get up and shake this off. No, I will leave for Stormwind tomorrow. No more delays."

"What of your magic?" said Darion combatively. "You've barely used it since the battle. Is it safe to build a portal?"

"I'll have Kel'Thuzad make me one."

His look changed from merely annoyed to murderous. "Your comraderie with that creature does nothing to inspire my trust in you, Jaina."

Jaina took one hand off the cane to plant her fist on her hip, leaning heavily with the other. "Well, it's a lucky thing I don't require your trust, Highlord, especially if you're judging  _me_  based on the actions of others. I'll send Acherus back to the Plaguelands as soon as I know how and we need not speak to each other ever again, if that would please you." He gave her an exasperated look.

"Yes, it would! Is it unwise to judge a person on the company they keep, then?"

"Yes," she replied, "if that alone is your standard. And it seems to me, in this case, that's exactly what you're doing. Tell me what  _I've_  done to enjoy your disfavour."

Mograine grumbled to himself. "Nothing," he said finally. "Except allow the lich to wander free through your Citadel! Are you sure it's wise to leave Icecrown unattended in your absence?"

Jaina gestured with one hand. "It's hardly unattended." She was right. Icecrown glacier and the Citadel itself were swarming with a bizarre mix of undead and living creatures. Some of them were merely curious. Some of them patrolled the ice. Most of them were involved in some manner of repair. Starkweather's crew alone was comprised of a dozen ghouls, one Nerubian, two dwarves, a goblin, and the Wolvar warrior named Orchid that Jaina had met in Sholozar Basin. Despite the endless stream of arguing from the group regarding tools, materials, technique, priorities, cost, language, culture, history, and the possibility that Orchid's mother had actually been a particularly attractive fur hat, they got along wonderfully.

"And yet you intend to leave Kel'Thuzad in charge! This is my problem, Jaina! This is why I don't trust you! I understand that he's loyal to _you_  but that doesn't change the fact he's a depraved, conniving madman!"

"I'm in charge of the Scourge, Darion. Kel'Thuzad is not. He's an effective liason between myself and Icecrown due to his psychic connection to the Lich King. I'll know exactly what he's doing at all times. He's not to leave the Citadel and any political matters that arise in my absence will be dealt with upon my return."

Mograine fumed. "I still wish you would wait until you were fully recovered," he said.

"That could be months," replied Jaina firmly. A yell rose from the crew on the stairs and Jaina covered a grin as all pretense at work fell apart when the latest dispute dissolved into Orchid challenging Starkweather to an arm wrestle. Cheers and whistles went up when the Death Knight accepted. "Besides, I hear there's green grass and flowers down there. Do you know how long its been since I saw a tree with leaves on it? Or a tree at all?"

Mograine grunted ambiguously in reply.

"Come on, Starkweather, don't let that over-grown hamster beat you!" bellowed one of the dwarves in encouragement. Jaina chuckled as the Death Knight's crew began to take sides. She looked up at Mograine, who was glowering at nothing in particular.

"Don't you ever smile?" she said.

"I'll smile when you return safely and the Citadel is still yours to come home to."

* * *

Jaina was in Stormwind for six days.

The first three she spent discussing her role in the war against the Scourge, and the mysterious circumstances of her ascension as the Lich King. Jaina maintained innocence of the process. Her physical appearance played well into allaying the fears of King Wrynn, his courtiers, and the various emissaries; she was diminutive and lovely, physically fragile, smiling, and thoroughly enjoyed every moment she spent outside in the sun. Jaina was exhausted by the end of each day, struggling to politely follow the dinner conversation. She slept deeply and did not dream.

King Wrynn recognized her fatigue and she spent the fourth day in solitude, in her suites at Stormwind castle. She read, napped, and ate, and watched the sun set at what seemed a proper hour over the sea.

The last two days resumed her debriefing among the elite of the Alliance. Jaina presented her bold plan to unite the north, elaborating on the use of the New Scourge as a constructive, defensive force, and the wealth of knowledge and expertise available among the native races. She explained pertinent details of her own power, including her ability to see through each individual undead. As she spoke, using anecdotes about Dreilide and interesting pieces of trivia to ease the sobriety of the conversation, she noticed a tapestry twitch in a way that had nothing to do with a draft.

She spent the next hour defending her choice to learn about necromancy, and from whom she would be learning it, and forgot about the errant tapestry. Finally, she was dismissed from the conference chamber when her stamina began to noticeably wane. She guessed it was also so everyone in attendance could discuss her and her plans amongst themselves.

"Psst! Lady Jaina?"

She spun round, half worried that Stormwind's notorious SI:7 wanted a special audience with her. Instead, she saw a boy of about twelve peeking around the corner. She broke into a broad smile.

"Prince Anduin? Is that you?" The boy approached her, clearly attempting to act dignified, but when she seized him in a happy embrace, he giggled and returned it enthusiastically.

"My dad won't let me sit in and listen," he complained, then graciously offered his arm. Varian Wrynn was not a small man, and neither by all appearances would his son be. At the moment, the boy was several inches shy of Jaina's height, but she doubted that would last. She looped her arm through his.

"Won't he? I understood he encourages you to learn as much as you can about martial things."

"Yes," said Anduin, slowing his exuberant walk for Jaina's sake, "I think he's worried that I'll be upset because bad things happened to you."

Jaina looked around. "Come out to the garden. I'll take my supper there, and we can talk," she said.

"Can you make people come back from the dead?"

"Sort of. But I don't know how yet. Mostly, I just talk to the Scourge inside their heads," she explained, feeling Anduin didn't need to know about the lethal magic she had used to defeat the Vrykul.

"Like telepathy?"

"Sure. They're not very talkative though." They reached her suite and Anduin bowed politely. He was still there waiting when she had changed to more informal attire. "Was that you hiding behind the tapestry in the conference chamber this afternoon?" she asked. Anduin blushed.

"Yeah. Great. If you saw me, my dad probably did too."

"Probably."

"I have a right to be curious," said Anduin stubbornly, "Besides, you're my friend. I was worried about you. They say all kinds of stuff when they think I'm not listening. And the kitchen staff and everyone in the marketplace, they all say all sorts of really,  _really_  bad stuff. But they weren't there, so they don't really know."

"Makes you mad, doesn't it?" said Jaina.

"Yeah," said Anduin, "But you  _were_  there, so I  _had_  to listen." They left the castle through gilded double doors with intricate glass panes. A broad path paved with slate flags emerged onto a lawn resplendent with fragrant trees, carefully pruned hedges for privacy, and beds of flowers in every colour. Jaina paused to take a deep breath.

"Ah, I never really appreciated how green growing things smell," she said contentedly.

"Like grass? Just smells like grass."

"It smells like life," she confided as they took their table. A servant arrived and poured water for Anduin, then wine for Jaina. Anduin wrinkled his nose.

"Yeah, a necropolis probably smells pretty bad."

Jaina pursed her lips. "You know, you'd think it would, but it doesn't. And I'm not just saying that because I've been there for so long. I think it's the spells they use when the necromancers resurrect people. The magic just preserves them. Well, mostly. Some of them are kind of gross." Anduin hung on every word.

"Did it hurt?" he asked, enthralled.

"What? Becoming the Lich King?" The Prince nodded, eyes wide. "No, not really. It felt weird and wrong, but it didn't actually hurt." Anduin continued to ask question after question, as the servant returned and brought their food, then removed their empty settings.

Throughout the meal, the Prince's questions began to shift away from the Scourge to Northrend itself. How cold  _was_  it? Did it snow everyday? Where did she get firewood? What kind of animals lived there? Had she ever fought an ice bear? Jaina struggled to describe the vastness of the glacier, how deep and ancient it was, and the penetrating, omnipresent cold. She told him about the days that were mostly night, and the eldritch beauty of the northern lights. She described the massive ice mammoths, and the cunning silver wolves that hunted them, and as she talked, Jaina was startled to hear pride and enthusiasm in her voice.

That night, she stared at her reflection in the ridiculously over-large mirror of her vanity, pondering the delicate icy glow of her eyes.

_Gods, I think I'm homesick_ , she thought with shock.

* * *

Darion had spent the past six days stationed outside the front entrance of the Citadel, keeping a ready vigil against what he thought was the inevitable mutiny of Kel'Thuzad. He was almost prepared to admit defeat when the lich in question nonchalantly glided past him onto the plinth. Darion unsheathed his runeblades in a flurry of sparks.

"Portal," said Kel'Thuzad smugly, and Mograine hastily stuffed both swords back into their scabbards just as Jaina stepped through the curtain of light. She paused, looking from Darion to Kel'Thuzad, instantly suspicious. "Welcome back, my King," said Kel'Thuzad smoothly, bowing. Darion ground his teeth in frustration.

"Thank you. Hello, Darion. Didn't you promise me a smile?" she grinned, turning expectantly to the Death Knight. Her skin was a shade pinker, and she had put on about five pounds. "King Wrynn sends his regards," she continued cheerfully, despite his failure to smile, "and hopes you will take some time out from your demanding schedule to visit his kingdom as well."

"I will try," said Darion finally, "Welcome back, Jaina." She nodded to him, and followed Kel'Thuzad inside the Citadel. Once the doors were closed, Jaina leaned heavily on the wall.

"Okay. Round up everyone who advised me not to travel immediately so they can all say 'I told you so' and get it over with," she sighed. The lich offered his arm and she accepted the support.

"Shall I assume that you were successful?" he asked.

"Somewhat. I think I managed to put the worst rumours to rest. King Wrynn wanted tactical information and war stories, mostly. Everyone else just wanted to look at me." Jaina hunched her shoulders deeper into her thin purple cape. She had not worn the black cloak, first because it was too heavy for Stormwind's significantly milder climate, and second because there was a messy hole in it where the splinter had torn through. Instead, she was clad in formal adept's robes, in Dalaran's colours. Only her hair and eyes gave her away as anything other than a gifted mage.

"Six days making nice with useless fops..." The lich made a noise of genuine horror.

"Yes, this is why you are not a diplomat."

"Clever, wasn't it? Kill a few hundred peasants, raise them from the dead, and I'll never have to endure another pointless garden party."

Jaina was torn between shock at his callousness and amusement at his sarcasm. "I wouldn't mind another week of garden parties. They typically have chairs." She picked up her skirts in one hand so she wouldn't trip climbing the stairs. "It was the last day that did me in. Prince Anduin wanted me to see the new ship his father had commissioned, so he took me down to the docks that evening. Of course, everyone and their brother wanted to see the Lich King, so like a vain idiot, I didn't take my cane. It completely negated all the wonderful sitting I'd done earlier. Ugh. So many stairs...!"

"Well, there are weeks of sitting ahead of you now. I've taken the liberty of marking several chapters for you to read in the book on your desk-"

Jaina stopped short, staring down the hall. She pointed. "Who's that?" The woman indicated froze.

Kel'Thuzad growled. "Aisha," he replied rather unwillingly. Jaina narrowed her eyes.

"You let the Cult of the Damned out of the dungeon?"

"Just three of us, Lady King," said Aisha hurriedly, tip-toing uncertainly towards them, "Um, M-master."

"Why?" asked Jaina, unamused.

"I required assistants. Aisha, find Stavros and Kieran and return to the dungeon."

"Yes master," she squeaked and took off. Jaina looked up at Kel'Thuzad.

"For what did you require assistants?"

"I had them set up the laboratory in the sub-basement to my standards, for your lessons."

Jaina bit her lip, annoyed. "Harmless as that may be, I need to know I can trust you to follow my orders exactly, especially in my absence. It's not just about trust, Kel'Thuzad. It's about political appearances too. How my allies see me influences the decisions they make regarding myself, and Northrend. I won't tolerate rumours of disloyalty or dark influences on my judgement. Keeping you here to teach me is enough of a scandal already."

"I apologize, my King," he said, voice coloured with surprise and a tiny bit of resentment. "I understand."

"Thank you for your honesty," she said, tone relenting, "and your foresight." She looked down the hallway in the direction Aisha had fled. "Somehow it seems incongruous that such a beautiful woman would be committed to such a dark power."

Kel'Thuzad opened the door to Jaina's chamber and stood aside. "Well, to be honest, her beauty was the main reason I employed her. She's rather stupid."

"Why would you want a dumb but pretty mage in the Cult?" said Jaina, and immediately wished she hadn't as something she truly did not want to contemplate sprang to mind.

"Beautiful women have their uses," said the lich. "Mostly infiltration." He caught the look Jaina was giving him and repeated coyly, " _Mostly_."

"Forget I ever asked," she said, and promptly tripped over something that had been slipped under her door. She caught her balance on the door frame and retrieved the object. It proved to be a scroll, weighted with a piece of stone to keep it from rolling about in the inevitable draft that snuck in beneath the door.

Jaina opened it. "It's from Imuruk," she said, scanning the neatly lettered lines, "Scouts searching for more Nerubian survivors found a hidden city, and the lost Queen of Azjol'Nerub! Oh, that must be wonderful for them!"

She continued reading, and her pale brows knit together in worry. "They've exchanged communication and... Anu'Shukhet's been deposed. Now that they have a true member of the ruling class among them, her leadership is no longer necessary and she's been returned to service as a legion commander. Her new post is to monitor Icecrown. And the Queen of Azjol'Nerub requests a meeting with myself." Jaina looked up at Kel'Thuzad. "I think she's probably happy with this. I hope so."

"As long as Imuruk is allowed to stay with her. He isn't part of the military."

"Nope. He's to be the Ambassador of the Nerubian Empire, to Lady Jaina Proudmoore, King of the Scourge," she said happily. She rolled up the scroll, eyes sparkling. "This is going to work!"

The lich cocked his head at her. "You know Jaina, you may very well succeed where Arthas failed."

"What's your meaning?" she asked.

"Your mission to unite the north. It's the kingdom he would have made by force."

Jaina looked down at her hands, realized she was rolling and re-rolling the scroll restlessly. "Kel'Thuzad, am I the only one who remembers the good that was in him? You knew him, you had the same bond to him as you do to me. Was there anything left…?"

Kel'Thuzad was silent for a long time, then he turned away. "You need to rest, my King," he said finally. Jaina remained staring down the hallway after he had departed, then slowly closed the door and made her way to bed.

The next morning, Jaina woke up feeling generally lousy. She lay on her back, staring at the ceiling, then turned over and propped herself on one elbow to reach for the cup of water ever-present on her bedside table. As she picked it up, something dropped to the stone floor, landing with a musical clink. Jaina peered over the edge of the bed.

On the floor was a locket, strung on a fine gold chain. Jaina blinked, breath catching in her throat.  _That can't be what I think it is. Can it?_  Jaina reached down and carefully gathered the jewelry between her trembling fingers. It took her a moment to summon the courage to turn the locket over and reveal its face. A simple blue stone, its facets scratched and abraded by time and wear, glowed softly in the setting. With shaking hands, Jaina opened the clasp and choked back a sob.

Inside was a tiny, weathered, creased portrait of Jaina.

"Oh-!" she said and clutched the locket to her chest, eyes squeezed shut. "You didn't forget. I  _knew_ \- I knew there was something left of you..."

 


	12. Business As Usual

Kel'Thuzad leaned his broken arm on the table and methodically removed the bandages. He studied the damage, using his other hand to turn it this way and that, observing the way in which the spells had broken. The weaves were subject to tension, though not in any physical sense, and there was only so much they could be stressed before they would disintegrate.

Opposing schools of magic had a tendency to stretch, warp, or fray each other when they came into contact, but Mograine was responsible for the shredded spellwork and Mograine was a Death Knight. The magic that innervated him was similar to that which worked on Kel'Thuzad and similar magics rarely caused this kind of damage. Yet, the spells had broken and Kel'Thuzad wanted to know why.

_Perhaps,_  he mused,  _it has something to do with the fact that Mograine was originally a paladin._  Despite his intent on vengeance and dour demeanour, maybe Darion Mograine still maintained a tenuous connection to the holy magic that he had once served.

But as Kel'Thuzad investigated his injury he could find no trace of the Light. The threads of each spell were wrenched apart by force, like the muscles of a living limb. The lich peered more closely. There was a sort of inert 'cap' applied to the severed weaves, an esoteric cauterizing effect.  _How very interesting._  Kel'Thuzad hummed to himself, then picked up a plume, flicked open a ledger and began to document his observations.

He was still taking notes and probing his injury when Jaina appeared in the doorway of the laboratory, leaning on her cane, watching him. He looked up.

"Is it not repairable?" she asked, pointing to the object of his interest.

"No, it is," he answered, continuing to investigate, "It's simply interesting. Mograine used enough physical force coupled with the innate destructive magic of a Death Knight to undo the spellwork here and here." He pointed, engrossed in his study. "He's a talented boy. Shame about his personality."

Jaina crossed the lab and joined him, stretching across the table to examine where he indicated. "It's very messy. He didn't cut this with a weapon, did he?"

"No, he did not. He stomped on it."

"Hm. Look at that, though. The bone didn't break. I'd think it would snap before the spells, except-" She peered closer, eyes widening with understanding. "Your bones- well,  _you_ \- are entirely made of magic. These weaves are incredible. They're so dense! No wonder you glow like that when I put on the Helm." Jaina shook her head. "I've never seen work like this. Was this an affect of the Sunwell, or one of the Lich King's powers?"

Kel'Thuzad picked up a copper probe and tested it against the dead spells, sending a small jolt of electricity down the tool. Nothing happened. "A combination, I believe, and the work of Ner'Zhul, not Arthas."

"That makes sense. Shamans are tied to all elements; everything that makes up a body, living or dead, would be at their command." She drew back, biting her lip contemplatively. "You're a unique manifestation of a very singular magic. You know… There must be a set of spells built into your phylactery that recalls the pattern of construction for when you resurrect," she said. Kel'Thuzad moved the probe along the weave until his defunct hand gave an involuntary twitch. "Have you had the opportunity to study them?"

"My former masters thought it best that I not have access to that knowledge." Jaina continued staring at the complex plaits of energy that gave the lich physical form. He exchanged the probe for something that looked like a scalpel with a ruby blade.

"I'm curious to know how it works," she said sincerely. "Kel'Thuzad, I assume that simply being my teacher will not occupy your time fully enough to keep you from getting bored. I don't want you bored. I feel it might end in a damaging diplomatic incident of some kind."

The lich chuckled drily. "Unintentionally, my King, but your assumption is logical."

"I would like you to study the spells of your construction."

"Yes?" he said eagerly. "My King, I will not fail you."

"Of course you won't. Now, I've read the next chapters, as you instructed, but I have a special request," she said, fidgeting, turning a pencil between her fingers.

Kel'Thuzad noted her anxiety. "Yes, my King?"

Jaina sighed. "How do I move Acherus? I promised Darion Mograine I would return him to the Plaguelands as soon as I was able," she said, a hint of irritation slipping into her voice. Kel'Thuzad used the ruby blade to excise the sections of spellwork Mograine's magic had rendered powerless.

"I see... Well, it's moderately difficult. It requires a significant amount of energy from the caster to catalyze the spell, and long periods of intense focus. A meditative trance works. When I piloted Naxxramas out of the Plaguelands, it took weeks. You pulled Acherus to Northrend in a matter of minutes."

"I used a portal."

"Still, the power necessary to manipulate it was too much for you then. You're in no shape to attempt it again so soon." Kel'Thuzad flexed his useful hand, watching how the weaves bent and stretched. "Four to six weeks," he estimated and felt, more than saw, Jaina wince. "Mograine is still a paladin at heart. Give him some perceived injustice to hurl himself against, and he won't give up until one of the two is in pieces. He probably believes you're keeping him here on purpose. I expect he would be more tolerable if you explained that you aren't."

"Keeping him here? Of course not! And I told him- wait. You mean  _he_  can't move Acherus himself? I thought he wanted me to do it because I was responsible for bringing him here!" Jaina expertly swallowed a smirk. "No one in Acherus actually knows how to  _drive_  it?"

Kel'Thuzad shook his head, amused by her reaction. "He was never trained to  _use_  Acherus; he was merely given it as a base of command. I expect there are several functions of the Ebon Hold that no one aboard has any idea even exist."

Jaina seated herself across the bench from Kel'Thuzad and propped her chin on one hand, watching him repeat his electrical test with the copper probe. This time his fingers convulsed with every part of the weave he touched. "Are any of those functions dangerous?" Kel'Thuzad shook his head. "Well, all I want to do is move him back to the Plaugelands. I don't suppose if you explained the process to him-"

"And end up back here fixing my other arm, or incorporeally teaching you how to resurrect me? No, thank you."

Jaina groaned, then sat up, expression brightening. "Though… as you said, he  _is_  a paladin at heart, and there's an injustice here that he's avoided addressing: that man tried to have me killed."

"Quite true. And in a manner downright insulting in its simplicity. If it's revenge you want, I would be more than happy to arrange-"

"No, I want him to apologize," said Jaina firmly.

Kel'Thuzad put down the probe. "Apologize."

"Yes!" said Jaina, suddenly animated with suppressed indignance. "Apologize! His decisions regarding me are too coloured by his personal experiences with the previous Lich King. He can't see or won't see me as anything but that, unless I do something to prove I'm not."

"Well, letting him live is a start..."

"I want him to apologize for using proxies to attack an innocent woman in her own bed-chamber! Proxies that he had  _explicitly_  told me to trust, and whose council I might have valued had I not happened to overhear them discussing my fate." Jaina's eyes flared briefly, fiercely. "Though I understand his reasons for what he did, it doesn't mean I'm not insulted by them."

Kel'Thuzad returned to assessing his injury. "Maybe I should ask him for an apology too." He replaced the probe and scalpel in a leather case, then opened a drawer and withdrew a clay pot with a metal stopper. "He tried to have  _me_  killed at the same time."

Jaina snorted. "I thought you didn't want to incorporeally teach me to resurrect you. What are you doing?"

"Normally the Thuzadin would complete this, but they're locked up in that make-shift dungeon, so I'm fixing myself."

"I can see that much. What are you doing, specifically?"

He un-stoppered the pot with two claws. "Re-establishing the weaves. Warm blood works best, as you've seen with Talsen. But in the absence of that resource, salt water and an iron-bristled brush work nearly as well." He selected such a brush from the leather case, dipped it, and applied the water along the inside of his humerus, working the bristles back and forth hard over the elbow, then down the radius towards his wrist. He repeated the process several times, the ragged magic weaves slowly drawing together as Jaina watched.

"Salt water and iron," she mused, "The Thuzadin would normally use blood?"

"Yes."

Jaina ran a hand through her hair, paused, momentarily distracted by the stark white of her locks, and sighed. "Tirion and Darion want your Cultists executed. They can't have you, so they want your followers." Kel'Thuzad dipped the brush and began outlining a similar spell-path along his ulna. "I'm inclined to agree with them. I have to give the Ashen Verdict something, and the Cult was instrumental in the fall of Lordaeron."

"Was I not instrumental as well?" said Kel'Thuzad, without looking up. Jaina straightened.

"Kel'Thuzad, you have immunity because I need you to teach me," she said, "What reason do I have to extend that privilege to the Cult?"

"None," replied Kel'Thuzad. He opened and closed his newly repaired hand, rather stiffly.

"No. None." Jaina watched him, waiting for a reaction. "You don't care?"

Kel'Thuzad put the stopper back on the jar of salt water. "The twenty-five Cultists in your dungeon are among the most dedicated and loyal I ever recruited. Losing them would be profoundly aggravating." He dried the brush on a scrap of cotton, rolled up the leather case, and replaced the supplies in the drawer. "No, I won't defend them or request that you spare them. They're smart people. They've always understood the risks involved in the Cult. Though, you know, it's more accurately  _you_  that they serve. Well, worship actually."

Jaina glared at him. "No. They're selfish, cruel people who joined you because you promised them power and immortality by serving your former master. I very much doubt they worship  _me_."

"And if they did, would you argue for their lives then?"

"I don't know," said Jaina heavily, "Perhaps. But I must be wary of whom I favour, and the Cult of the Damned was an institution created explicitly to serve Arthas."

"It still bothers you though, that your word will put them to death."

"Yes, it does, of course it does!" She sighed again. "Can we talk about moving Acherus?" The lich nodded.

"The principle is relatively simple. One set of spells anchors and levitates the fortress during its stationary state. To move it, those are disabled and a second set of spells, synchronous incremental teleportations, are enacted."

"That's a bit complicated, isn't it?" said Jaina, "Wouldn't it be easier if it wasn't anchored? Dalaran uses flexible stay enchantments; they allow the city to shift and adapt to the magics practiced within. I assume Acherus and Naxxramas would need similar flexibility. Or incorporate the movement spells into the stays…"

Kel'Thuzad spread his hands in a shrug. "I didn't design it."

Jaina nodded. "I'll need to do practical research before I attempt it." She looked pained, which Kel'Thuzad suspected had nothing to do with her injuries. "Which means visiting Acherus."

* * *

"I'd like to help you, but I'm afraid I have no knowledge of how the necropolis flies," said Jaina apologetically. "When I brought it here, I was desperate, casting emotionally. It's hard to recall the specifics of what I did. I truly thought that someone aboard would know how to return it." Jaina clasped her hands behind her back and looked around, strolling beside Darion Mograine through his grim fortress. The Death Knight's frown didn't change.

"And walking around here will help you remember?"

"Yes, Darion. I need to see how the spells work together before I can try manipulating them," she said, pausing to examine a support pillar. She turned to face him. "I'm sorry, but could I trouble you for a drink of water?"

"Fine. Wait here. Don't touch anything." He strode away, leaving Jaina on her own, gazing at the vaulted roof. The levitation spells were woven into the structure of the necropolis. In places, the mortar itself was enchanted.

"Hmm," she said, and stretched out a hand to touch the stone. It was cool and slightly damp. The anchor spells arched overhead. There was another set of inactive spells laid alongside them.  _Probably for flight. Or 'incremental synchronous teleportation'. That must have been the title of someone's thesis at the Scholomance…_ There was a scuff behind her and she turned, feeling eyes on her, to find a group of Death Knights quickly attending to other business. She ignored them.

"Here," said Darion, returning, and offered her a battered metal mug of water.

"Thank you," replied Jaina brightly and sipped, watching the Ebon Hold commander. "From what I can see, it's like a switch. Turn off one set of spells and turn on another."

"All right," said Darion, "and how do you steer it?"

"Good question," admitted Jaina. "I don't know yet. It looks like it requires a high level mage. Do any of your people qualify?"

"Doubt it," said Darion, hands on his hips. "If you're judging us against yourself." Jaina raised an eyebrow.

"None of them? Wait- you've a lich among your staff, don't you? The Scourge didn't give that honour to just any mage," she said. Darion led her down a short flight of stairs. Jaina stumbled at the bottom and grabbed onto Darion's sleeve for balance. His first reaction was to pull away, quickly countered by holding her shoulders to steady her. "Sorry," she said, embarrassed, "I should probably still be using the cane." She slipped her arm through his, carrying the cup daintily in her other hand. "It's just so... Is there a word for something that reminds you of your own mortality?"

Darion glanced sideways, awkward with her clinging to his arm. "I don't know," he said, then shrugged, "Fear, I guess."

Jaina wrinkled her nose. "I think fear is more what you feel  _when_  you're reminded of your own mortality, not what actually reminds you of it." She looked up at the Death Knight. "Maybe I am a little afraid of what the cane means though."

"You're not going to limp forever," grunted Darion. "Tirion says you're healing well."

"I am, but it's slow. My muscles hurt. I don't know if the scar is ever going to fade." Darion involuntarily moved his free hand to his own chest, gloved fingers hovering over the appalling, messily-stitched hole hidden beneath layers of armour. The undead didn't scar. "So, may I speak to your lich about moving Acherus?" Jaina continued, apparently oblivious to his reaction.

Darion grunted assent. "His name's Amal'Thazad. He teaches the initiates to use frost magic. This way," he said, and lead Jaina to a translocator platform.

They appeared in another level of Acherus, one dominated by the sound of clashing steel and shouts of competition. There was a sunken coliseum in the middle of the floor fitted with training dummies and currently in use by two circling forms in black armour.

Jaina paused to watch for a moment as the pair duelled, then followed when Darion pulled slightly on her arm. He lead her to a large alcove lit with guttering coldflame, filled with shelves and cabinets, and a lectern near the back supporting an open tome. Behind the lectern, skeletal hands clutching the edges, floated Amal'Thazad. Jaina's initial thought was how different he looked from Kel'Thuzad; this lich was considerably shorter, his costume and ornamentation were muted, and he had an air of utter calm when Jaina approached him.

"My Lady," he rasped, and bowed. She walked directly up to him and offered her hand.

"Hello," she said warmly. He accepted her handshake, his grip listless. "May I ask you some things about your command of magic?" Amal'Thazad looked at Darion, who nodded.

"What do you wish to know?" he said, voice devoid of curiosity.

"Where did you take your training?"

"At the Scholomance," he replied. "For four years."

"Only four years? Did you study intermediate inorganic teleportation?"

"It was required."

"How about advanced meditation techniques? Unconscious spell maintenance and subliminal casting?"

"A lich has no need for these disciplines as a lich does not sleep and cannot be rendered unconscious."

Jaina nodded. "True enough. What was your average focus score?"

"Six of ten."

"Very well," said Jaina. "Thank you, Amal'Thazad." She turned to Darion. "I think once I figure out how this works, Amal'Thazad will be able to pilot Acherus. From what I've seen, I should be able to loose the anchor spells here, then he can drive it back to the Plaguelands, where I can meet you and re-anchor it."

"I have received no training in this discipline," said the lich. Jaina nodded.

"Neither have I, yet. I will teach you when I know more." He nodded once in acceptance. Jaina glanced around the alcove, taking in the fastidious organization and complete lack of personal touches. "I'd like to start tomorrow if possible. Darion?" she appealed to the Death Knight commander. He nodded.

"Sure. The quicker, the better," he said. Jaina started back toward the translocator. Darion paced beside her, watchful. "Why couldn't you start working on this today? The less you're aboard, the safer I feel."

"I'd like to," she said earnestly, then whispered, drawing him closer to hear her, "I'm exhausted. My stomach aches." She shook her head. "This is humiliating. I can't stand up for more than half an hour, it hurts to breathe, and when I work even the smallest of spells, it makes me cold and shaky. May I hold on to your arm again?"

"Uh… yeah. Why not," he said. Jaina clamped onto his bicep. He looked down at her, then away, then back again. "I just want to get Acherus out of here. The weather sucks and none of us like being so close to you. Well, not really you. No offense, Jaina. It's just... you know." He cleared his throat. "You sure you should be trying something like this if you're in such bad shape?"

She smiled up at him. "Thank you for your concern. It's all right, Darion. If it's too much, I'll slow down. I know you want to get out of Northrend, and I'm sympathetic." They slowly climbed the stairs to the open balcony where the Ebon Hold tethered their skeletal gryphons.

"Well, thanks for that, I suppose." He helped her onto a gryphon, then mounted the beast beside hers. "I'll escort you back down. Yeah, I know, I'm not allowed inside the Citadel, but I can walk you to the door at least."

Jaina tried to find a comfortable way to seat herself on the bony animal, clinging to its neck as it took flight. They glided out into the chilly wind, spiralling down to land on the plinth in front of the Citadel doors. Darion leapt nimbly from his mount and grabbed the loose reins of Jaina's, steadying her with his other hand.

"Look," he said when she was standing firmly, "I always thought highly of you, before this happened. Tirion keeps nagging about how this wasn't your choice and I should treat you with more compassion, but it's hard. I guess you're doing fine so far. I meant no offense when I said we don't like being near you. No personal offense, anyway. Do you understand?"

Jaina raised her chin. "So far."

"Well, you've got that damn lich in there still! And I don't care much for necromancy but I guess I can see how you'd need to know it. Maybe. Seeing you now, I keep forgetting you're actually a mage and I've never really understood mages."

"But you were a paladin! You had your own magic- you still have your own magic- and it isn't so different."

"It is different. Tirion says you believe magic isn't good or evil, it just  _is_. Well, the Light was good. And I know something about the stuff you're studying and it isn't good. But whatever he's teaching you and whatever effect the Lich King's magic has on you, you're still making choices like the Jaina Proudmoore I respected. So... maybe I misjudged you a bit," said the Death Knight commander grudgingly. He flicked his gaze to hers, then quickly away. His eyes were a haunting blue.

"Are you going to apologize then?"

"Apologize?"

"For trying to have me killed. For lying to me. I really needed someone I could trust back then, Darion," said Jaina softly, lowering her eyes when it was obvious he wouldn't- or couldn't- look her in the face. "I thought you had understood that; I was glad someone had reached out to me. Then I overhead Kagra, Starkweather and Xochi talking about their real mission." She swallowed hard. "I understood why you did it, from a logical standpoint, but not from an emotional one. I would really like an apology."

Darion finally looked down to find her eyes glistening with bravely held tears, and raised a hand to her cheek, only to stop short. "I made a mistake," he said firmly, "Perhaps I do owe you an apology. I'm sorry Jaina." She nodded, blinking rapidly.

"Thank you, Darion."

He nodded briskly, shifting his weight uncomfortably from foot to foot. "Why did you let them go after they tried to kill you? I mean, they tried to  _kill_  you."

She smiled. "They were acting on your orders. After the attempt, when I let them live and had them healed, I think they realized they'd made a mistake too. They weren't going to try it again, and there was no reason to keep them imprisoned and let their uncertainty about me ferment into real dislike." Darion jammed his thumbs into his belt and studied his boots, nodding.

"They're good people. Good soldiers. Eh, Starkweather's probably a better stonemason than a soldier. Anyway, take whatever time you need to study Acherus. Don't stress yourself."

Jaina pulled the cloak around her shoulders, nodding. "Thank you. I will do my best," she said and crossed to the front doors, where she paused. "I'll meet you again tomorrow, then?"

"I'll be here," he said and gave her a nod. Jaina waved, then turned and slipped through the door.

Kel'Thuzad towered before her, arms folded across his chest, clearly amused by something. She moved to step around him and the lich moved with her, intentionally blocking her way. "Why Jaina," he said, "you clever, deceitful minx. I didn't think you would employ treachery the likes of which poor Mograine just experienced."

"I beg your pardon!" she exclaimed, pushing the door closed behind her back. "I'm sure I have no idea what you're going on about." Kel'Thuzad backed off, cackling quietly.

"Playing the fragile damsel, drawing his attention to your mortality, touching him... you even teared up." Jaina sniffed in derision and raised her chin haughtily.

"What is this fantasy you're concocting? Bored already?"

"I must be. Certainly Lady Jaina wouldn't stoop to manipulating what I believe was once a young gentleman with such a basic emotional arsenal."

Jaina brushed past him, pulling the cloak higher to disguise the blush that bloomed on her cheeks and across the bridge of her nose.

"I'm appalled by these insinuations! I simply wished Darion to recognize that I was a person, not just some nebulous evil in a new body," she said, pulling her gloves off as she strode towards the sub-basement. "I didn't think he would respond well to aggression-"

"Astute deduction."

"-so I just tried being nice," she said firmly. "And it worked. I got to look around Acherus, and see the spellwork. Now I'm sure it can be moved." She descended the stairs, one hand on the wall for balance. Kel'Thuzad followed, ducking to avoid the low ceiling, still chuckling to himself."I met a Scourge-made lich," said Jaina to change the subject, "He was... quite different than you."

"A lich? In Acherus?" replied Kel'Thuzad and his voice was suddenly sharp. Jaina nodded.

"Mmhm. He said his name was Amal'Thazad. I assume, with a name like that, he was a pupil of yours? He said he studied at the Scholomance."

Kel'Tuzad made a sound of disgust. "His name is Andris Charov. Yes, he was one of my pupils. A mediocre one at best, full of his own self-importance, and too arrogant to do the work required for true greatness. But last year, the original frost trainer Acherus had was killed. Mograine, who hasn't the first shred of understanding about decent wizardry, ordered that fool promoted and given the gift of lichdom." He hissed derisively and withdrew a key on a long chain from beneath his mantle. He fitted it into the lock on his laboratory door. "Undeath made him a much better mage, but... He idolized me while he was alive, thought he was  _like_ me, as talented as me, and now he's mangled my _name_.  _Amal'Thazad_. It's gibberish. Doesn't even mean anything." He opened the door more violently than necessary and prowled through, still grumbling, and Jaina silently congratulated herself on a conversation thoroughly derailed.

"Well, do you think he's capable of moving Acherus at least?" she asked hopefully. Jaina shrugged out of the cloak and let Kel'Thuzad hang it for her on a hook beside the door. She collected her pencil and notebook, and took her place at the bench.

"Fortunately, yes. The best thing that ever happened to Andris was losing his sense of ego when he ascended as a lich. He's a much more useful person now." Kel'Thuzad turned several pages in the tome on his lectern, then consulted a second book that Jaina hadn't seen before. "Have you thoroughly read through the chapter?"

"I have." She scooted her chair in and leaned forward attentively. "In theory, the process of vertebrate resurrection seems too complicated to perform quickly. Is the method described here the same one used by Scourge necromancers on the battlefield?"

"Almost entirely. It seems complex, but practice makes it simple. Shall we begin practicing?"

Jaina drew a deep breath, then nodded. "I'm ready. Yes."

"Work until it feels like you shouldn't. I'll observe your progress." Kel'Thuzad reached under the lectern and brought out a canvas bag. "I promise it isn't a rat." The bag contained a hare, limp and cold, in a perfect white coat with black-tipped ears. Jaina swallowed.

"You didn't kill it, did you?" she said worriedly.

"No. Your dog did. I took it from him before he could mangle it," said Kel'Thuzad. "All right. Set it up." He steepled his fingers and watched her over the tips. Jaina licked her lips and stood. She unfolded the leather case containing Kel'Thuzad's tools, flipped her text to the correct page and straightened the hare's body on its side, fore and hind legs extended. Next, she carefully pried the jaws open and pulled one of the upper molars with a steel clamp. She slid a tendril of magic into the exposed socket, and slowly wove an enchantment into the animal's bone. From there, she expanded the spell to enclose the hare's whole skull.

"Good start," said Kel'Thuzad approvingly, "how are you feeling?"

"Fine so far," she replied and slowly widened the weave to include the hare's cervical vertebrae. She continued the enchantment down the animal's spine, enveloping the shoulder blades and inching down the forelimbs. Each rib followed. Once the weave was completely applied to the skeleton, Jaina paused.

"The pelvis is a little uneven," she said. Kel'Thuzad peered critically at the hare.

"Thicken the weaves on the femurs as well. Are you tiring?"

"No. Just getting over-confident, I think," she said and made the changes.

"Take a break," he said firmly, when she finished. Jaina acquiesced and resumed her seat. She did feel a little worn from guiding the spell over the hare's skeleton, but nothing close to the terrifying cold numbness she had experienced while fighting the Vrykul.

"You're doing very well," murmured Kel'Thuzad, leaning down to inspect the enchantments more closely, angling his head to avoid touching the work in progress with his tusks. "Would that any of my former apprentices showed this much skill." The lich looked up. "For all his stubbornness, Antonidas was a capable mage and instructor."

Jaina paused before responding. She had loved her mentor with the fierce, aspiring passion of a student who knew they had a great teacher and would do anything to live up to their expectations. "Yes," she said quietly, smiling to herself, "he was. Every time I learn something new, I still feel that moment of trepidation- do I  _really_  understand what I read? Maybe I should read it again, make more notes, just to be certain." She shook her head. "He had a gift for asking questions about whatever you studied the least."

"A pity that trait didn't apply to himself."

Jaina was prepared to deliver a heated retort, then backed down. "No, you're right. If Dalaran had investigated necromancy, perhaps they would have been able to combat it better. Maybe then Arthas' Death Knights would never have been able to kill him," she said sadly. Kel'Thuzad made no response, but she sensed both pride and apology from him. "Shall I continue?"

"Please."

An hour later, Jaina was sitting on the table, holding a cold, docile reanimated hare in her lap while Kel'Thuzad meticulously checked her spellwork. The undead animal had risen kicking and agitated, and her first instinct was to pick it up and shelter it. Instantly, the creature relaxed, sensing the protection of its creator. Jaina held it in her arms, amazed and frightened by what she had done. After several minutes, the hare was calm enough to be set down, but it proved impossible for Kel'Thuzad to study without Jaina's close physical presence.

So she sat cross-legged on the table top, with the hare resting placidly over her knee while the lich inspected it.

"Excellent work for your first time," he said finally, moving back. Jaina lifted the hare up, stiffly un-crossing her legs and sat down shakily on the bench, the animal resting contentedly on her lap once more. "There's an unnecessary amount of innervation in the toes, both in the skeletal and locomotory structure. There's an overlap here-" he indicated carefully with one deadly talon, "-between the movement weave for the mandible and the structural weave of the skull. It might merge and the jaw would become immovable. And there is no need for a motion weave on the tail. It's a superfluous limb."

"What if it was a dog or a cat? They use their tails for communication."

"The Scourge were not in the habit of reanimating dogs and cats."

Jaina stopped herself from petting the hare, despite its luxuriously soft-looking winter pelt. "But if they did, wouldn't they need to use their tails?"

"No. Neither you nor I understand the entire physical language of an animal enough to competently program it, and they lose their natural instincts upon this style of resurrection. They are empty, completely empty save for what you have enchanted them to be." Jaina gave in and stroked the hare between its shoulder blades.

"That's eerie," she admitted. "If I worked out the spells for it, I could make this hare walk on its back legs, or give Dreilide the ability to talk?"

Kel'Thuzad shook his head. "The former, perhaps. The latter, no. It must lie within the realm of the creature's anatomical capabilites. This is why we began to build creatures."

Jaina shuddered. "Like the abominations."

"Yes. They were constructed for specific purposes, of specific… parts. A fascinating and endlessly variable field of study."

"I think I like the hare the way it is," she said hastily. She looked down at the animal. "It seems unfair to resurrect it when it's only going to die again," she said regretfully.

"What use is an undead hare?" asked Kel'Thuzad reasonably. "Besides, we need to see how long your weaves will hold on the specimen. The strength of the spells will increase with your confidence, and the animal will remain reanimated for longer and longer periods until it lives indefinitely."

"I understand," Jaina replied, gently petting the creature's furry ears. She bit her lip. "I thought I was ready for this, but it- it isn't right to give something the  _semblance_  of life again, then take it away. Nevermind that it's unnatural; it's cruel."

Kel'Thuzad came around the bench and seated himself beside her. "Jaina, the hare has no idea what you've done. When your weaves decay and it dies again, it won't know what happened. This is the most basic level of necromancy; it is simply an animated corpse. It knows nothing and judges no one."

Jaina shook her head. "No, but  _I_  know. I'm doing this and it has no say. Is this how you learned? With the rats? Seeing how long they stayed animate, doing it over and over?"

"Yes. My work, until I had the Lich King's instruction, was much sloppier. The rats lasted for minutes only."

"Are we going to use this same hare every time?" she asked. The animal made no response to her gentle stroking, but it did seem to help calm it.

"If you like. It is wise to use one species at first so you become completely familiar with their form and what works best on it. When you've learned that, we will move onto something else and you will take your experience with you."

Jaina felt the hare twitch and lifted it up, worried. The tension in its muscles slowly relaxed and then it went completely limp. The spells dimmed, flickered and faded, and Jaina was left holding a dead hare. "Oh," she said and set it on the table, unconsciously wiping her hands on her robes. "Will it… will it remember that I did this to it before, if we use it again?"

"No. It can't. There's nothing to this animal but meat and magic," said Kel'Thuzad patiently. "It isn't a hare anymore. Try it again. The more you practice, the more you become accustomed to it."

"I don't want to become accustomed to it!" snapped Jaina. "It's grotesque and heartless and disturbing." She picked up her notes. "I need to answer a letter, and meet with Imuruk and the Val'kyr. Thank you for the lesson." Before Kel'Thuzad could stop her, she rose and hurried out of the room.

* * *

Kel'Thuzad found her on the highest rampart three hours later, cloak drawn closed around her so that only her pale hair and glowing eyes showed in the mound of black. She stared out into the endless gray distance.

"You're trying to teach me as though I'm a ready student of necromancy," she said without turning around. Kel'Thuzad halted beside her, listening. The words tumbled out of her mouth in a rush; she had been up here thinking and waiting for some time. "I don't need repetitive practice. I don't want to reanimate anyone. I just want to understand  _how_  it is done, so I can break the spells if I need to, or fix them." She moved her head fractionally, looking up at him from the corner of her eye. "Can you do that?"

Kel'Thuzad nodded unwillingly. "I can. But... what then are your eventual intentions for the Scourge? Are we nothing more than a convenient personal army?"

"Yes," she said quietly, without hesitation. "I follow the Light, Kel'Thuzad. The ideals I believe in and try to uphold don't have a place for creatures that cannot die. I... I've come to terms with some parts of undeath, but I can't make myself an intimate part of the process. It goes against everything I believe! To be mortal means fearing death, or embracing life. The people who joined your Cult, Arthas, and you yourself- you feared death to the point where you sought to conquer it. But I," she said, facing him now, gesturing forcefully with both hands, "I choose to do as much as I can in the time I have  _now._  I will study and learn and try to leave this place better than I found it, but when I die, that will be the end. Doesn't it motivate you? Doesn't it humble you? You had one chance- to be great, or to be terrible, or to be mediocre."

"Why should we have only one chance?" he replied. "I squandered a good number of years dutifully studying topics Dalaran approved. I am not interested in doing good, Jaina. I'm interested in exploring the greater mysteries of this world, no matter the cost. Why should I heed the meager number of years I was given, or the flaws of living flesh when there is an alternative?"

"Because it turned you into a monster!" she said, voice rising, "I saw your life, Kel'Thuzad! You were not an evil man! But you  _became_  one, for the promise of this!" She gestured angrily at him.

"What-!"

"When you were resurrected, you shed the fear that made you human and now you don't understand, or can't understand, or refuse to understand because you think you're  _above_  understanding simple humans!" She blew out an irritated breath. "And that's why I won't reanimate anything. I don't want to be like you. I don't want to re-create you."

Kel'Thuzad drew back from her, dark reproach boiling up within him. Then he lunged forward, stabbing one shaking finger centimeters from her face. "I came here with an open mind, Jaina. I let you bend my morals- oh yes, I  _do_  have some!- let you compromise my ambitions, gave up my authority, and my followers, and even my  _name_. I could have run! I could've stood against you! I could have killed you, but I didn't. I have nothing but respect for you, King or not, yet you have nothing but loathing for everything that I am!" He slashed the air before her. "If I am so inhuman, then explain to me why I stay."

"Because you must," she snapped, "because you're bound to me, and you have nowhere safe to go, and because I have your phylactery!"

"Oh please, don't insult me. Save it for Mograine."

Jaina turned away, squeezed her eyes shut tight and took a deep breath, then turned back. "It's easier for you to bend your morals than it is for me. You were a good man once! I've never been... what you are."

"I didn't bend anything. I adapted."

Jaina realized there were tears on her cheeks and rubbed her sleeve over them, annoyed. "It's not adaptation, it's corruption," she said stubbornly. Kel'Thuzad was silent for a moment, then reached out and touched her shoulder lightly.

"Perhaps there is a use for some of the Cultists in your dungeon," he said. "Come. Not all resurrection is so flat and empty as what you did today." Jaina didn't move. "You were right- I  _was_  trying to teach you as though you were a true acolyte. Instead of starting at the beginning, perhaps we should start at the end."

He headed for the door, not bothering to check if she was following. Reluctantly, led by curiosity and a touch of remorse for so thoroughly insulting her teacher, she joined him. They didn't speak until they arrived at the door to the Citadel's make-shift prison.

"I would like to make a formal appeal on behalf of six of the Cult," said Kel'Thuzad before they entered. "Let the others meet the Highlord's justice if they must, but I would keep my Thuzadin." Jaina raised her eyebrows. "Or if they can't be spared, let me kill them myself. I don't expect you to understand, but to them it would be an act of respect."

"I will speak to Tirion tomorrow. Now, show me what we came for." She unlocked the door and let him enter first. All twenty-five Cultists were on their feet instantly. Unlike most of the Scourge interaction Jaina had observed during the war, the living and the undead mingled easily here. Aisha, the lovely woman Jaina had caught in the corridor, had her arm around the waist of a living man.

"My Lord and Lady," said the man and stepped forward, bowing deeply. "What need have you of us?"

"Stavros," said Kel'Thuzad, beckoning the man forward, "Kieran, Sonja." Two of the undead Cultists joined them, eyes reverently downcast. "Stavros, why did you choose to join the Cult of the Damned?"

The man looked from the lich to Jaina, addressing her when he spoke. "I wanted to be a mage. I was not talented enough for Dalaran, and none of the minor magic users in Lordaeron would accept a peasant's son as an apprentice."

"Kieran, what was your reason?"

"King Terenas taxed my family into poverty. I wanted revenge."

"Sonja?"

"I want to live forever."

"Why?" asked Jaina.

"T-to see every-everything, my K-king," said the woman meekly. Were she living, Jaina had no doubt Sonja would have been blushing furiously.

"How has working in my company and being raised into undeath changed your desires?" asked Kel'Thuzad.

"My Lord," said Stavros, "I await your favour in that respect, but working with you has changed my life. I would not be a mage were it not for the chance the Cult gave me to prove myself. I owe you my success." Kel'Thuzad nodded, and pointed to Kieran.

"I aided in the downfall of Lordaeron. That's what I wanted, that's what you promised, and that's what I got."

"Sonja?"

She nodded, yellow eyes wide with devotion, looking from Kel'Thuzad to Jaina. "My desires n-never changed, my Lord," she said, "and- and you helped me realize them." She bowed her head. "My Lady King."

"Tell me," continued Kel'Thuzad, "do you fear death?"

"Not as your disciple," replied Stavros.

"Sure, I did," said Kieran, "But who doesn't? I'd rather make each day useful than worry about when I'm going to die. Everyone dies. What's the point obsessing over it?"

"Yes," said Sonja, "perhaps even more so now." She smiled at Kieran. "But I shall not obsess over it either. I am blessed."

Kel'Thuzad held out his hands and each of the three immediately reached out to brush his knuckles with lips or fingers. Jaina was startled by the affection in their devotion, though Kel'Thuzad accepted it with pleasure and familiarity. He met her gaze and she nodded.

"You've made your point. Thank you all," she said and they withdrew, locking the door behind them. Jaina folded her arms over her chest and faced the lich. "So, those three? And who else?"

"Sonja and Kieran are not Thuzadin," he said, "Merely loyal. I would have Stavros spared. The others are Lilly, Altorius, Eric, Carris and Tarlo."

"Why?"

"Because they trust me and that trust is indispensible for both you and I. Now, can we discuss your education once more?"

"I don't want to practice reanimation, Kel'Thuzad. I don't want it to be something that comes easily. It's a life. It should be hard to bring a person back-"

"It  _is_. What you saw in there is the epitome of necromancy. Well, short of lichdom, of course. But they've lost nothing in resurrection, Jaina, and gained so much more."

She sighed. "You believe that, and they believe that."

"Which is enough. You needn't reanimate anything that hasn't given you explicit consent. Is that fair?"

"A hare can't give consent."

"Well, I fed it to Dreilide after you left anyway, so the issue is moot."

"I'm not reanimating anything," she repeated, resolutely.

"Will you watch me do it, then? If Fordring allows Stavros to live, I promised him eternal life in undeath."

Jaina shifted uncomfortably. "All right. I can see he wants it and... I should know how it's done. But I won't help you. I will observe only. And it depends on Tirion's decision." They left the area and Jaina headed back up towards the rampart. "I'm sorry," she said when they reached the chilly heights. "I don't really think you're a monster. Not anymore. Sometimes you can be disturbing and ghoulish, but... I- well, there's this memory of yours that I glimpsed when we were casting together. You, as a boy, playing in the sea with your siblings?"

The lich clasped his hands behind his back. "And?"

"There was no malice in you. There's still parts of you that are that boy, or you would have forgotten the memory."

Kel'Thuzad gazed out across the glacier, his jaws slightly parted, and Jaina realized he was smiling. "Hard to forget. The water was freezing."

"I like that it makes you happy," she said gently.

"I had no idea I wasn't supposed to be capable of everything my brothers and sister could do, so I just did it. Well, until Sa'reya turned out to be a druid." He chuckled to himself. "There was a time I would have given my left arm for the ability to turn into bear."

"Your sister?"

He nodded. "Fifteen years older than me, but kal'dorei age differently than humans, so we seemed only a few years apart. My elder brother was thirty-five years older and still came with us when we went down to the ocean. And Alunin was my age..." He fell silent and Jaina watched him, leaning on the railing.

"Are they still alive?" she asked quietly.

"I don't know," he said, then murmured, "I hope not." Jaina didn't move or speak. There was the most faint, tenuous hint of guilt in the lich's voice, and she feared it would evaporate if she acknowledged it at all. Paradoxically, her heart soared. Kel'Thuzad had spent most of his youth isolated from humanity, knowing only the wilderness of Winterspring and the ways of his adoptive Night Elven family. The bonds he forged there were as unshakable in a way as the one she shared with him now, and if his parents overheard the name of their son spoken with hatred, she knew Kel'Thuzad would be deeply ashamed. Better that they had died before he ever reached Dalaran, and knew nothing of his infamy.

Finally, she reached into her pocket and pulled out a pair of brass goggles with thick, clear lenses and a padded leather mask to keep the metal from touching her skin.

"What are you doing with those?" he asked, already dreading her answer.

"Well," said Jaina, craning her neck to peer at the highest tower of the Citadel, "there's a friendly dragon roosting on that spire and Prince Anduin wrote me a letter declaring he would never respect me, ever again, if I didn't try to ride it."

"Remind me again which of us is supposed to be insane..."


	13. And When You Asked for Light

_"And when you asked for light,_

_I set myself on fire."_

_-_ What You Are,  _Audioslave_

Jaina's days began to follow a schedule.

In the morning, she addressed her diplomatic relations. Imuruk and Earthsinger, her only local political contacts, met her for breakfast, taking turns refusing to allow Jaina to cook for herself. Either their respective employers hadn't known about the two shamans' prior friendship, or they didn't care; for their part, both represented their patron's best interests with enthusiastic competence. Breakfast itself was a politics-free zone. Afterward, if they had issues to discuss, they would retire to a room down the corridor from Jaina's chamber, which she had begun think of as her office. The rest of her diplomacy was conducted through letters, giving her extra time to critically consider her words, research the situation of individual recipients, and familiarize herself with what constituted proper etiquette for each response.

Shortly after noon, Jaina took a walk around the Citadel. When the weather had a pronounced bite, she would stick to the lower ramparts, pausing in the lee of the building to warm herself, but when the wind was still and the clouds were high, she ventured out on the glacier. Earthsinger was happy to accompany her several times, explaining the history and geography of the ice, but most of the time her only companion was Dreilide. Jaina treasured her solitary walks. They gave her a chance to think un-debated, and the chill wind was refreshing.

Then, she would descend to Kel'Thuzad's lab in the sub-basement. After her adamant refusal to practice resurrection, the lich had switched tactics in her necromantic education, while waiting for Tirion Fordring's decision regarding the Thuzadin. Their focus became the transportation of Acherus, and as they approached the end of what she could learn without actual practice, Kel'Thuzad returned to teaching reanimation theories and supportive magic. Jaina was quite happy learning how to shield and repair her undead army. The one form of magic which had always eluded her was healing, and now she was able to effect a version of the skill.

Evenings found her alone in her chamber with books and letters, reading, studying, and thinking until she was too tired to focus. Every night she dreamed, but of what, she couldn't recall. She would wake the next morning with a vague sense of unease, brush it off, and begin the routine again.

Kel'Thuzad, too, had fallen into a schedule, though it was not as structured or full as Jaina's. He spent the mornings devising her lessons for the next day, the afternoon teaching her, and the evening prowling the Citadel. Some days Imuruk accompanied him, as cheerful in the lich's presence as he had been when Kel'Thuzad still wore the guise of Kazimir Frostblood.

Most of time he was alone, fighting a growing sense of restlessness and boredom. He was accustomed to having multiple duties at once, deadlines, interruptions and intrusions. He had knowledge and power, and the unquestioning loyalty of the Scourge, but nothing to  _do_  with it. Jaina had been rightfully worried about what might happen if he had nothing to occupy him, but as yet she hadn't released his phylactery for him to study and Kel'Thuzad had very little else to do.

So, he looked forward to Jaina's lessons, taking pride in her progress and perverse joy in their moral friction. He tarried outside the Nerubian's tunnel each night, forging excuses for himself until Imuruk appeared or he grew disgusted with his own desire for companionship. In an effort to assuage both his boredom and his shame, he began drilling the Scourge soldiers stationed at the Citadel in military tactics, and soon this practice dominated his nights. The constant action and attention required for the exercises kept him from thinking too much.

As the days grew into weeks, Kel'Thuzad began to draw silent comparisons between his two most frequent companions: he did not want for intelligent conversation with either of them, but most of his interactions with Jaina turned into arguments, while it was nearly impossible to incite hostility in Imuruk. Both responses frustrated him for different reasons. Jaina's steadfast refusal to relinquish the idea that necromancy was 'wrong' exasperated him on a personal level, though he enjoyed debating with her. Imuruk's world-view, conversely, separated things into innumerable shades of grey. In order to truly antagonize him, Kel'Thuzad would have to directly threaten the shaman's beloved mate, Anu'Shukhet, and he had no desire or cause to do so.

Kel'Thuzad found himself circuitously addressing the subject one night as he and Imuruk began their fourth lap of the Citadel's lower ramparts. "Jaina is keenly aware of how others view her. It affects every choice she makes, and every interaction. Doesn't associating with me decrease your credibility?"

"No," replied the Nerubian mildly, "My people already find me strange, what with speaking Common and being a shaman. They see the practicality in using my skills for the betterment of the kingdom. Fraternizing with Scourge is hardly the most peculiar thing I've done in their eyes." He cocked his head to look up at Kel'Thuzad. "And they have little specific history with you, as the humans do."

"Despite the fact that the Scourge were responsible for the devastation in your kingdom?"

Imuruk shrugged. "They blame the source, the Lich King. The rest of the Scourge was merely an extension of his will. That is much the same as the structure of Nerubian society, so that is how my people think. Some humans argue that there is too little free will in their culture, but your kind has innately more individuality than mine does.  _We_  were horrified by the actions of your King; humanity was horrified because you _chose_  to follow him."

Kel'Thuzad pondered this. "If I do something which harms your people, they won't blame me. They'll blame Jaina."

Imuruk nodded, gazing off across the ice. "Exactly." He turned back. "Were you planning to harm someone?"

"No one Nerubian," replied Kel'Thuzad.

"Oh, well then you needn't worry. When humans fight amongst themselves, my people simply watch and remark on how much more civilized they are." The lich gave Imuruk's hideous facial scarring a long and pointed look.

"Civilized indeed," he said, voice thick with sarcasm that Imuruk blithely ignored. "I've figured out why I like your people. They remind me of the  _kal'dorei_."

"How so?" asked the Nerubian, genuinely curious.

"Arrogant, ancient cultures that wilfully isolated themselves, thinking nothing of their own flaws, but judging the younger species nevertheless."

"I thought you liked my people."

"I do, very much." Kel'Thuzad leaned on the railing, watching a thin band of aurora wavering above the horizon. "I knew I was human, not kal'dorei. But I was fifteen years old before I saw another of my own kind. My parents thought of humans as particularly intelligent, violent beasts."

"Which they are," agreed Imuruk, nodding. "Were you a pet, then?"

"A  _pet_? No! I was as much their child as Alunin, Sa'reya and Thalaras. I simply came to them differently."

"And you remember nothing of your biological parents?"

"Nothing. I was only weeks old when they found me."

"Are you quite sure you're human?"

Kel'Thuzad chuckled. "Yes, I'm sure. My siblings all had green hair and purple skin, while I had brown hair and a sunburn most of the time." Imuruk joined him at the railing, one pair of hands dangling over the emptiness while the other supported his chin. They watched the aurora until it faded.

"Why'd you ever leave?" Imuruk asked.

"Curiosity," shrugged Kel'Thuzad. "I was restless and frustrated. I was young. And no matter how loving my family was, I wanted to meet other humans. So I left."

"Ever been back?"

Kel'Thuzad ran his fingers along his left tusk, eyeing a hairline fracture in the ivory that he had probably acquired during his scrap with Darion Mograine. "No," he said. "That part of my life ended when I left. Since then I've been a mage, a necromancer, and Jaina's teacher."

They finished their lap around the Citadel, Imuruk uncharacteristically silent. Kel'Thuzad didn't inquire. Perhaps there were similarities between their lives that Imuruk was pondering, but the lich didn't volunteer an opinion. Truthfully, the Nerubian's inquiries had stirred something uncomfortable within him and, as they parted ways at the tunnel mouth, Kel'Thuzad chose to spend the rest of the night alone, forsaking the military manoeuvres that normally kept his mind occupied. Back outside on the highest walkways circling the Citadel, he found his thoughts turning inexorably inwards.

For the first time in years, he immersed himself in his memories. He wondered what had become of his eldest brother, Thalaras, whose only talent had been for making others laugh. Or his sister, the druid, more at home in the skin of a bear, rambling through the woods with Kel'Thuzad perched on her shoulders. And Alunin, practically his twin but for species, already showing such a connection to Elune's power that it was inevitable he train in the priesthood. His parents weren't young when they had Thalaras. A hunter and a former Sentinel, they had sought solitude in the rough high country after two lifetimes of adventure to raise a family far away from the strife and discord visited on their world.

Why had he never returned to Winterspring? Hell, he'd never even tried to write a letter. Was he afraid he had become one of the coarse, belligerent humans that so disappointed his mother and father? Was he afraid they wouldn't answer him? Did they know what he had done? Finally, Kel'Thuzad addressed the worst question: were they dead, slain in Archimonde's devastating attack on the World Tree at the summit of Mount Hyjal? He had grown up on the mountain's flank, climbing and hunting, hiding, falling, getting lost and dirty, learning to track, to sit perfectly still, to find his way back home in the dark. Had they gone to defend their land from the ageless demon that Kel'Thuzad himself had summoned to Azeroth- and died?

_This rumination is a pointless waste of time,_  he rebuked himself viciously, but the words were empty. Kel'Thuzad looked down at himself, a construct of magic and will.  _Was it worth it?_

Hadn't he always felt unfinished, unfulfilled? It was why he had left in the first place. There was always something more for him to learn, something new and interesting around the next corner, and he had always been compelled to find out what it was, no matter the cost. When that endless curiosity led him to Dalaran, to necromancy, to the Book of Medivh, to the feet of the Lich King, hadn't he wondered if there was  _still_  more? And as he hovered on the rampart, unaware that he hadn't moved for the better part of an hour, Kel'Thuzad drew closer and closer to the part of his mind he consciously avoided, the vault where he had long ago locked away his pity, his remorse, and his doubt.

* * *

The weather had been growing steadily warmer and milder since the solstice when suddenly winter made a cataclysmic last-ditch effort to retain it's grasp on Northrend. Jaina woke up one morning, looked out her window, and scrubbed at the frost on it with her sleeve, quizzically. She stopped. There was no frost on the window. The world was churning, featureless white beyond the glass. Now, she could hear the wind, not the low, sepulchral moan she had come to recognize and ignore, but a fierce, unnerving scream.

Jaina shivered involuntarily and dressed warmly. She peeked into the kitchen to find Imuruk, Earthsinger, Kagra, Starkweather and his crew, Talsen, Dreilide, and a large furry cat all crammed around the hearth, looking cold and miserable.

"Good morning," she said. Kagra hunched her shoulders and leaned over her steaming cup of what smelled like coffee.

"If you say so," grumbled the Orc. Earthsinger got up and moved to the stove, offering Jaina a mug of tea.

"What awful weather," she tried again. Even Orchid the Wolvar looked chilled with her thick fur fluffed up, tail wrapped over her lap.

"We haven't had a good, hard blizzard yet this winter," said Earthsinger, unconcerned, "We were due."

"I could  _do_  without it," replied another of Starkweather's crew, a female goblin whose name Jaina failed to recall. The small woman got an approving chuckle and a knuckle bump from a dwarf beside her. Talsen pushed a chair close to the fire for Jaina and bowed. She sat, thanking him, despite the fact she found the temperature quite comfortable. Judging from the attitude of the others, it was cold enough even the Death Knights were noticing it, but Jaina felt nothing more than mildly cool.

"Anything special you want for breakfast, Lady Jaina?" Earthsinger asked. Jaina waved a hand.

"Oh no, whatever you have left is fine for me."

"She wasn't asking to be nice," said Kagra, "She's looking for an excuse to stoke the stove again."

Jaina glanced at Earthsinger, who shrugged helplessly. "In that case, um... sausage, bread, bacon, porridge, and more tea? Thank you." Earthsinger merrily began building a good fire in the iron stove. Jaina continued to sip her tea and quietly contemplate her resistance to cold. The others returned to their conversation, which was largely based on griping about the weather, imagining what they'd do come summer, and encouraging Dreilide to chase the cat. The plague hound, she saw, already had a set of parallel scratches on his broad nose and was wisely ignoring their counsel. She reached over and scratched his neck affectionately.

"Is Acherus all right?" she asked when there was a break in the conversation. "It's directly in the path of the wind."

"It's a friggin' ice-box!" complained Kagra.

"There's  _sideways icicles_  on the railings," added Starkweather, appalled.

"Why do you think they're both in here?" said Earthsinger. Jaina grimaced.

"That's no good," she said decisively, "after breakfast, I don't care what Darion says. I'm moving the Ebon Hold into the lee of the Citadel for the duration of the storm." The two Death Knights both perked up. Starkweather toasted her with his coffee.

"You, Lady, are my new hero."

"Oh, this will be exciting!" said Imuruk, clapping one set of hands. "May we watch?"

"Sure," said Jaina.

"You can tell me all about it when you come back in to thaw," said Kagra but she gave Jaina a small nod of respect, then passed Jaina's empty mug to Earthsinger for more tea. As soon as her lap was no longer occupied by her hands, the black and white cat, which Jaina could have sworn was sound asleep, strolled across the floor and leapt up on her, blinking enormous blue eyes.

Jaina sneezed. "Hello cat," she said, "where did you come from? I hope you're a good mouser." She felt a collar around it's neck, and found a metal tag, which read:

_Mister Bigglesworth_

_Property of Kel'Thuzad_

_**TOUCH & DIE** _

She smothered a snort of laughter.

"One of those Cultists had it with 'im. Figured it might do more good in here than locked up with those crazies," said Starkweather. He put out his hand and the cat inspected his fingers, then turned away and curled up on Jaina's lap, purring loudly. She blinked watering eyes.

"Yes, I'm sure it will, I just-" She sneezed again. "It's something about their fur! It always gives me the sniffles. No, no, don't move it, I'll just get a handkerchief," she said hurriedly when Imuruk reached to take the cat from her.

Earthsinger brought her a plate and utensils and, after some experimentation, Jaina finally just set the plate on top of the cat and ate her breakfast, much to the amusement of the others. Afterwards, she carefully deposited the animal on the floor and returned to her chamber for her winter clothes.

Starkweather, Imuruk, and Earthsinger, along with a few of the work crew, met her at the Citadel's front doors to see her off. The living ones were bundled up in thick layers, including Imuruk, whom Jaina had never seen wear more than his light, draping robe.

"Are you sure you don't want thicker mittens, ma'am?" asked one of the crew, the dwarf, judging by his height and width. Jaina looked at her gloves.

"Thank you, but I'm sure I'll be fine," she said. She slipped out the front door. As soon as she came around the corner of the plinth directly beneath Acherus, she was greeted by a blast of wind so cold it literally froze the breath in her mouth. Jaina found herself gasping and swiftly teleported up to the Ebon Hold.

The necropolis seemed deserted at first. Jaina had never arrived uninvited before and she paused, looking around the frozen stone halls, clutching the folds of her cloak around her. The wind up here was downright vicious. She scuttled behind a pillar, blowing out a shocked breath that crystallized instantly.

"By the Light," she whimpered and pressed her hands against her cheeks. She'd been outside for less than a minute and already couldn't feel her own touch.

"Light's got nothin' to do with it," said a morose voice beside her. Jaina glanced up and realized she was sharing her shelter with a vast, white-furred Tauren Death Knight. "Hi, by the way."

"Hello," she said and held out her hand. His grip swallowed her hand to the elbow. "Can you tell me where Highlord Mograine is, please?" The Death Knight pointed.

"Downstairs with Lady Alistra," he said. Jaina raised an eyebrow.

"The woman who teaches unholy magic?"

The Tauren nodded. "That's the one."

"Thanks," she said and prepared to step back into the gale, then paused. "Hey, feel free to come into the Citadel. Kagra's made some coffee and one of Starkweather's goblins brought a bottle of something that may or may not be fuel-grade ethanol." The Death Knight grimaced.

"I dunno, Lady King. Last time I was in that place..."

"I know. The offer stands if you're interested." She smiled.

"All right, yeah, maybe." He shook his wooly head, beads of ice clicking in his beard. "Coffee'd be great."

Jaina waved, pulled her hood up, and ran for the translocator platform. She reappeared on the lower level, which despite having more protection from the wind, was just as blisteringly cold as the upper level. Any corner or crevice capable of shielding a body was occupied by one or more wretched-looking Death Knights. The runeforge, which normally cast a sullen glow over the area, was completely obscured by a crowd of people. Jaina hurried towards the alcove where Lady Alistra gave instruction. She'd only met the woman once; an exquisitely beautiful undead Blood Elf with a caustic personality, Jaina had been glad to leave her presence.

"What are  _you_  doing here?" Alistra stepped into Jaina's path, flanked by a pair of obedient ghouls.

"I came to speak with the Highlord," Jaina answered, slowing her pace.

"You cannot come and go as you please here, Lich King," said Alistra, painted crimson lips curling back from perfect teeth. "We are not your servants. You need  _permission_  to enter the Ebon Hold." Jaina accelerated her walk and stepped around the trainer without breaking stride.

"I said you  _aren't_  welcome-"

Jaina turned, the black cloak swirling around her in thick folds. She raised her chin a fraction, meeting Alistra's chilly gaze with her own. "The Highlord, Lady Alistra," she said firmly.

"Lady Jaina?" Darion appeared in her peripheral vision. Jaina bowed slightly.

"May we speak?" she said. The lord of the Ebon Blade nodded.

"Of course. Come this way, it's less windy." They rounded the corner into Alistra's alcove.

"I want to move Acherus," said Jaina. "Just around to the north-western side of the Citadel so it's out of the wind."

"No!" spat Alistra, coming up behind Jaina. "You will never control this place again!"

"Alistra!" barked Darion and the trainer winced visibly at his tone. "Lady Jaina is a guest. I will not have her spoken to with such rudeness. Where are your manners?"

"My apologies, Highlord," muttered the woman in the least apologetic voice Jaina had ever heard. She crossed her arms over her chest and stood with her hip cocked, blatantly glaring at Jaina.

"I tend to agree with Alistra," Darion continued, "Why should I let you move Acherus?"

"Because it's cold and awful up here. Even your Death Knights are miserable in this weather and no one knows how long it will continue."

"You don't think Amal'Thazad could do it?"

Jaina shook her head. "We've only been working on the spells for five days. He isn't ready."

"Let me think on it," said Darion and gestured back toward the translocator. Jaina nodded, and glanced from Darion to Alistra. Although it stretched her hospitality to the limit, she cleared her throat.

"In the meantime, you're welcome to come down to the Citadel and warm up." Alistra's eyes flared wide and she turned away abruptly, but Darion put his hands in his pockets and looked thoughtful.

"I might just take you up on that offer," he said. Jaina bowed and escorted herself out.

When she returned to the Citadel, the gathering in the kitchen had tripled in size and spilled out into the corridor. She heard Starkweather's fiddle warming up, and as she passed, the white Tauren saluted her with a coffee mug. Jaina waved and escaped down the hallway, heading for the sub-basement.

"Kel'Thuzad?" she asked, peering around the door.

Kel'Thuzad hovered in the far corner of his laboratory, one talon marking a passage in an open tome while he searched through the cabinet above for something when Jaina entered.

He looked over his shoulder. "Yes, my King?"

She sat down at her regular place along the bench. "Are you too busy for a lesson?" she asked. She didn't recognize the book or the items he was removing from the cabinet. Kel'Thuzad set down the equipment and turned.

"Of course not. Shall we begin where we left off last week?"

Jaina paused. She'd spent five days with Amal'Thazad, for hours at a stretch, and what struck her most was the disturbing void where his personality should have been. After that amount of time together, she had expected him to let his guard down a little with her, either accidentally or as familiarity reassured him that she was no Arthas. To Jaina's knowledge, the Scourge had done nothing to remove the lich's personality, but the absence of emotions had the same effect on Amal'Thazad. There was so little for her to commune with he could as well have been an inanimate object.

At the moment, Kel'Thuzad was showing a similar detachment, but Jaina knew it had nothing to do with his resurrection spells. He had been distracted and broody for the past few days, and the telepathic wall between them was back, allowing her to glimpse only the broadest sense of his thoughts. She had left him alone until now. Partly this was because she had been busy, and partly because she felt awkward inquiring about his psychological state. He had put the wall up for a reason and King or not, she felt it wasn't her place to pry.

Except this  _was_  Kel'Thuzad and he  _was_  notoriously devious. Perhaps his distant attitude and quiet demeanour didn't herald something emotional but something martial. Perhaps he thought if she was unaware of his intentions, she couldn't be accused alongside him. It was the sort of twisted nobility that she anticipated from him. If he was up to no good, she wanted to know and end it.

"What's bothering you?" she asked with frank concern.

The lich stopped before her and considered. He could tell her that there was nothing bothering him, which was how he wished to answer. He could make up a lie, something trivial that would lead her away from the truth. Some military tribulation, or magical quandary.

Or he could acknowledge, to himself and to her, that he was distressed, frightened even, by the growing feeling of restlessness, of otherness, and uselessness this new life provoked. He could tell her that his suspicions were now concrete certainties, that her personality was so entwined with the Lich King's will it affected the Scourge as deeply as the power influenced her. Could he admit that, because he was inescapably subject to her will, his own was rapidly disintegrating? And if he were honest with himself about these things, could he be honest with her? Did she need to know, or even deserve to?

Kel'Thuzad wrestled the problem for several seconds.

"Nothing is bothering me," he said evenly, and turned to open their text to the appropriate page. When he looked up again, she was still watching him, chewing her lip skeptically. Then she nodded to the book he had been examining when she entered.

"What are you working on?"

"Preliminary research. Might I know when you intend to allow me access to my phylactery for study?"

"I was going to wait until Tirion and Darion had left. I can give it to you tomorrow afternoon if you wish. It seems neither of them will be going anywhere soon."

"I would be grateful for the distraction," he said and wished to withdraw the words as soon as he spoke, cursing his unintentional honesty. Jaina seized on it.

"Distraction?"

"I've had very little to do this past week, what with your absence to Acherus," he recovered quickly. Jaina nodded.

"I completely understand."

She asked no further and their lesson progressed normally until the end of the chapter, while the party on the floor above grew more populous and boisterous. Jaina ignored it with practiced ease.

She had begun studying rituals for finding corpses, something the Cult had used to swell the numbers of the Scourge when there wasn't a fresh battlefield at hand. They would raid cemeteries, find shallow graves, even exhume ancient burials. She had no intention of using the knowledge for it's original purpose, but she could see practical applications, especially in a place such as Northrend where weather, animals, and terrain were as likely to claim lives as unnatural causes and a body could remain lost for years without closure.

When she had first become Lich King and used the Helm to survey her kingdom from a distance, she had been able to detect dead bodies as well as risen Scourge, but there was no specificity in the ability. She wanted to be able to look for and find individuals, if she were so asked. She and Kel'Thuzad had been experimenting with the Cult spells in hopes of bending them to their purpose with some success, but every spell involved material components.

Kel'Thuzad apologized. "I wasn't expecting you to reach the end of the chapter until next week. Give me a moment; I'll find the supplies we need," he said and bowed out of the lab.

"Uh, don't go upstairs!" she called after him hurriedly. He leaned back around the doorjamb.

"Mograine up there?"

"Possibly."

"Hmm."

"Kel'Thuzad, don't you dare! I don't know how to resurrect you yet!"

He cackled and disappeared into the corridor. Jaina re-read a section of the text, then flipped through her own notes. The lich was still absent. Her gaze flicked to the book he had been reading when she arrived, and she went over to the counter, curious.

It was, predictably, a necromantic text but quite different from the ones he had been using to teach her. This book was hand-lettered, not printed, on thick velum and bound with tiny precise silk stitches. Despite the book's obvious value, Kel'Thuzad had still gone through the entire length of it, brazenly making notes in the margins. Jaina winced at the desecration.

Then she started reading. Kel'Thuzad had been researching the Scourge lichdom ritual, specifically the process of creating a phylactery and transferring one's soul to it before death. Perhaps he meant to compare this technique to the one used on himself? Jaina paused. According to the ritual, it was the lich-to-be's responsibility to craft the phylactery and bind themselves to it. It was important that this was personal and individual, that the lich have a sense of familiarity with the object anchoring it to eternal undeath. Such was not the case with Kel'Thuzad. His phylactery was chosen for him, an alien object in the possession of his master.

Jaina carefully turned the page, absorbed in the descriptive text. When she smoothed her fingers down the paper, the tome wobbled. She lifted it up. There was another book beneath it, thin and paperbound, open to a dog-eared page. The script was small, the letters crowded, written in pencil. It was unfamiliar and, unlike the other book, Kel'Thuzad had not added his own observations.

" _I have seen men rise and walk with terrible wounds, their eyes yellow with death and fixed on nothing,"_ she read, _"At first, after the fires of Stratholme, these poor, abhorrent creatures appeared not to understand their state. They pursued the living when they could, fell upon them with grasping hands and awful sounds. Lordaeron's fine soldiers witnessed the undead commit murder against men, women, and children, without discrimination, without mercy, and without provocation. Their anger appeared elemental to their being._

_"But when the Lich King faltered, these wretched creatures awoke and reclaimed some measure of humanity. Several were captured for study at the behest of the Silver Hand, to determine how best they could be disposed of and if doing so would be morally sound. After all, were they not human? I was commissioned to conduct research to this end. Over the course of several months, I completed experiments of both magickal and natural design, each of them detailed in the following pages with the necessary instructions for replication._

_"However, it is an esoteric matter that I wish to address. During my investigation, I found that these degenerate creatures, these Forsaken as they called themselves, had_ souls. _When I first suspected this to be the case, I refused to believe that any such foul abomination could retain that most precious human element, and I entreated several different paladins to individually verify my suspicions. Their testimonials follow, in their own words, but the outcome was unanimous._

_"How can any man with a soul willingly kill innocents? We might ask this of society's most heinous criminals, but they are living, with illnesses and desires and schemes of vengeance. How can something so baldly impossible as a walking corpse retain a soul? What sort of magic raises a man from the grave, deaf and blind to the pleas of his victims, but allows him the gift of the Light?"_

Jaina turned the page, engrossed.

_"My skills were called into service once again, when the Argent Dawn alighted on the shores of Northrend, bringing the fight to the Lich King himself. I was ordered to examine the reanimated corpses in this frozen hell, but this time there was a difference: most of these, raised through vile necromancy, by corrupted priests and mages, these had no souls. They were vacant, less furious than the undead of Lordaeron, but no less dangerous and perhaps more chilling in their utter inhumanity."_

Jaina swallowed. The difference, she knew, was Frostmourne. Arthas had not possessed the sword yet when the Forsaken had risen out of the plague and devastation in Lordaeron. Once he had it in hand, the Scourge he made in Northrend were stripped of their souls by the ravenous blade. It made them more tractable, dependent on the will of the Lich King for guidance. This method was used on all save the Knights of the Ebon Blade, whom Arthas had required to be intelligent and creative battlefield commanders, capable of thinking for themselves.

" _Recently, I have been asked to resolve a most contentious, even blasphemous, question: what is the effect of a soul on a man's nature? Some of the liberated Forsaken to whom I have spoken are honourable men, despite being coarse-mannered Horde soldiers and undead. And as I have stated previously, there exist living individuals presumed to have souls who are the worst sort of criminals! The living members of the Cult of the Damned willingly serve their demonic master, and I have witnessed the interrogations of several who were taken prisoner; I can firmly attest to these degenerates being in possession of a soul._

_"My investigations have brought me to one conclusion: a soul is meaningless to the nature of man. There are those who disagree, but they have not seen the things I have seen. I might go so far as to state that the soul does not exist at all; rather, it is a fiction, a construct in the mind of man, without mass, shape, or hue. Those who look for it will find it only because they believe it exists."_

Here, Kel'Thuzad had finally added his own opinion to the narrative, in a hand so furious his quill had ripped through the paper in places:

_"This man is a craven idiot. A soul encompasses the_ entire _nature of an individual; it's mass is the weight of conscience, it's shape the path of memory, it's hue the sights of a lifetime. It is immeasurable. I have been divided, fractured, and bound, and I know it is not a fiction."_ The lich had written more, then deliberately scratched it out. Jaina peered closer.  _"Had I but understood... it was not just my service he claimed, but my very self. My master's will fills the divide between body and soul; I am whatever is asked of me."_

Jaina carefully replaced the books as they had been and leaned on the counter, thinking.

When Tirion Fordring and his band of adventurers broke Frostmourne, the trapped souls within were freed, to Arthas' detriment. Jaina could not say for certain what became of the vengeful prisoners of the blade afterward. Had they returned to the bodies they once wore, waking within undead shells as the Forsaken had done years before? Or had they fled into the Light? She bit her lip, thinking of Talsen, the ghoul whom she had healed. He had spoken, of his own volition, before she ever touched him and displayed a level of individuality that surprised even Kel'Thuzad. Did Talsen have a soul?

Perhaps some souls returned to their familiar bodies, and some ascended. Some lost souls probably still roamed Northrend. Jaina's thoughts leapt to Imuruk, how he would pause mid-sentence sometimes, or stand motionless, head cocked as though listening when there was no one else in the room. She knew shamans heard the spirits of their ancestors and heeded their wisdom; certainly Imuruk heeded his dead, wandering kin, but what else did he hear?

Until then, she had not considered her inherited power beyond its effect on herself and its potential positive uses. She stood at the head of an enormous army, with absolute authority over a force she barely understood, yet which obeyed her completely. How many of the Scourge had reclaimed their souls when Frostmourne broke and remained,  _choosing_  to serve her? How many of them were individuals like Talsen? And how many of them had been irrevocably damaged by the experience?

Jaina heard the door creak as the lich pushed it open, returning with the ingredients they needed. She turned, somewhat guilty for snooping.

"Regretably, access to mint leaves is somewhat restricted at the moment, but-" He paused when he saw her turning away from his study materials. "That might be a little beyond your current abilities," he said carefully.

"A little," she acknowledged. She thought of his vitriolic penmanship, dug into the page with the weight of bitter captivity. "Did you do any of this? These... rituals and preparations, while you were still human?" The lich approached, setting out their supplies while he considered an answer.

"I did nothing. I trusted the Lich King to keep its word, that I would be given immortality for my service."

"Arthas, or Ner'Zhul, must have made some preparations to bring you back," she pressed carefully.

"Arthas. Yes. He was obsessed with loyalty, and betrayal. It impressed him that I remained faithful to the Lich King, even after it chose  _him_ as it's vessel, the man who killed me and whom I had every right to dislike. This is my reward." Kel'Thuzad paused. "Or so I thought."

Jaina remained leaning against the counter as the lich fiddled with the spell components. "What do you mean?"

"I thought it was a mark of- of favouritism, or mercy, or even some experiment in magical strength that I was resurrected with my emotions intact." He shook his head.

"An  _accident_?" said Jaina incredulously. "Like the Helm accidentally ending up as your phylactery?"

"No," said Kel'Thuzad quietly, "It was no accident. I think he did it because he knew eventually it would drive me mad. In the end, he didn't trust me any more than his other minions."

Jaina was silent, watching him arrange and re-arrange the supplies.

"When you were wounded, you told me I was 'only seventy percent evil'. I'm no more  _evil_  than you are, Jaina, just... well, we can disagree about that later. But Arthas' will nurtured parts of my personality that are in all people, the unpleasant, unfavourable parts that most people successfully hide or ignore. They became 'seventy percent' of my personality." He picked up a crystal vial and turned it this way and that, watching the refraction of torchlight from the facets. "Sadism can be learned, as anything can be. Do something enough times, be rewarded for it, and eventually you grow accustomed to it, even learn to enjoy it. That is the effect of the Lich King's will on the Scourge: what you want us to be is what we become, undeniably." He looked up at her. "Arthas was no worse than any other confused, inexperienced young man. But Frostmourne, and the powers of the Lich King... they brought out the tyrant in him because what he feared most,  _obsessed about_ most, was being unable to control the fates of his people."

Jaina bit her lip. "Having me in control is changing you, then."

"Yes," said Kel'Thuzad emphatically, "I only understand these things now because you've  _allowed_ me to." He began to pace. "You favour free will, not control; your compassion is making the mindless Scourge self-aware. It's made  _me_  aware of how truly bound I am. I'm not myself, not entirely; I haven't been for years. I think I might have preferred to remain ignorant, Jaina." Kel'Thuzad turned away from her. "And  _I chose this!_ "

Jaina swallowed a lump in her throat that was equally nausea and sympathy. It had never occurred to her that the omnipotence of the Lich King would translate her unspoken desires into orders. She could think of nothing to say.

"I did everything that was asked of me!" he ranted. "I turned away from Dalaran, I gave up my life, I poisoned Lordaeron, I summoned Archimonde, I killed  _so many_! I  _forgot my family_! And I revelled in it all. Part of me still does.  _Most_ of me does! And this is what I get? Eternal life as a slave! The Lich King  _tricked_  me! I died for him, Jaina," he snarled, hands curling into fists, chains writhing furiously around him, "Died by Arthas own hand so the Lich King could rise, died for it, for  _you!_  And I would do it again, oh  _yes_." His voice trembled and he faced her, words dropping to a desperate whisper. "I would throw myself on the mercy of Dalaran, if you asked. I will protect you, defend you, kill for you. I would leave, if you asked. Whatever you want,  _I will do it and think it is my own decision_." He lowered his hands, the fury drained out of him. "I can't do anything else. I am... whatever you want me to be."

Very carefully, Jaina pushed away from the counter and approached him. She reached up and took his hands in her own, pulling him gently down to sit before her so they were eye to eye.

"Can you be happy?" she asked.

"Would you be happy knowing that your will belonged to another?"

Jaina shook her head. "I'm sorry," she whispered, and slid her arms around him, leaning against his chest.

"Damn you," he murmured, and returned the embrace.

* * *

Darion Mograine was more than a little apprehensive about wandering around Icecrown Citadel, despite Jaina's invitation. Alistra, peeved for some reason Darion couldn't comprehend, had stayed behind in Acherus, but truth be told, the Death Knight commander was curious.

He found Tirion Fordring in a well-upholstered chair near the front door, trading stories with a mixed group of Ashen Verdict adherents and adventurers. The two men nodded to each other, and Darion continued his hesitant exploration. He found the party without trouble. The hallway outside the kitchen was packed with talking, joking, eating, drinking people of all races, living and undead. At least half of them were Ebon Hold knights; the rest were adventurers, Argent Dawn paladins, and various Scourge. Jaina, however, was nowhere to be found and Darion continued to wander.

He had vague memories of the Citadel, all of them hazy, none of them pleasant, but enough to find his way around. Starkweather and his crew had been busy in the intervening months though, cleaning up debris, repairing damaged structures, renovating rooms for new uses, and installing amenities to make the Citadel habitable for the living. Darion strolled through the corridors, looking at the new work. Jaina had not bothered to replace most of the décor, unless it was particularly gruesome. Darion walked past three tapestries in the dark blue and silver heraldry of the Scourge, alternated with gold and violet standards displaying the open eye of the Dalaran wizards.

A muffled thump shook the hallway. Darion whirled, searching for the source, but there was nothing evident. He paused, listening. Another concussion rattled the bolts on a door further along the corridor. Darion sprinted to it, yanked the locks back and tore the door open, all senses on alert.

It lead outside into the lee of the Citadel and despite the fact that the wind was calmer here, Darion cringed at the ambient temperature and threw his arm up to shield his face. Before he could take in much else, a jagged chunk of ice slammed into the wall beside him, raining cold shrapnel over the Death Knight as he blindly unsheathed his swords. He dropped into a crouch, blades held defensively before him, and found himself staring at Jaina.

"What are you doing here?" she said breathlessly. Her cloak was off, shoulders bare, her hair pulled back in a hasty braid, skin radiant with heat and exertion. Darion stared, shook himself, then glanced around. Across the courtyard hovered Kel'Thuzad, one hand raised and pointing to the place where his frostbolt had just shattered against the wall.

"What are you doing!" replied Darion, more loudly than necessary. Jaina blinked, affronted by his tone.

"Sparring," she answered. Darion huffed and jammed his swords back into their scabbards, glaring over his shoulder at the lich. He grabbed Jaina's wrist.

"Are you  _mad_?" he said, pulling her toward him. "Sparring with  _him_? Do you know how dangerous-"

Jaina yanked her hand free. "Don't be absurd," she scolded, "Which of us do you really think is more dangerous?" Darion stepped back, instantly embarrassed both by his actions and her response.

"Forgive my concern," he snapped. Jaina's eyes widened and she planted her fists on her hips.

"Oh, is that what this is about?"

"What?" said Darion, baffled. "What is this about?"

"You tell me. You're the one who jumped into the middle of my training with your weapons out."

Darion growled and rubbed his forehead with the back of his hand. "Jaina... look, I don't like him," said the Death Knight, jerking his chin towards Kel'Thuzad, who meandered closer, calculating. "I don't trust him. You're out here alone with him and he's slinging ice at you. What am I supposed to think?"

Jaina sighed. "At this point? You should think I am capable of taking care of myself and even if  _you_  don't trust Kel'Thuzad,  _I do_." She turned away. "I'll see you back inside," she said, and Darion found himself summarily dismissed. He gaped at her back.

"All right. Whatever you want," he said, threw his hands up, and slammed the door behind him as he departed.

Kel'Thuzad stared down at Jaina, head cocked in amusement. "He likes you."

"And are you looking at me like that because you disapprove of him, or because I shouldn't have snapped at him?" she asked. Kel'Thuzad examined a scratch on one of his vambraces.

"Both, perhaps."

"He's a decent man," she said, "but he's..."

"Jumpy? Stupid? Immature?"

" _Undead_?"

"Oh, that." The lich stretched his hands, contemplating his claws. "You know, Knights of the Ebon Blade aside, undead make very  _giving_ lovers. Most reanimation spells don't leave the body capable of experiencing physical sensations, like sexual pleasure. So either they're selfless partners, or they're bitter and angry."

Jaina raised her eyebrows, nodding. "Well that explains a lot about the Forsaken..."

"The Ebon Hold knights were given a more meticulous resurrection. Despite the lack of blood circulation, the men are capable of erection-"

"Okay, stop right there. I said he was a decent man, not that I wanted to bed him."

"I wasn't suggesting you would, I was merely being informative," Kel'Thuzad replied archly, backing up to his original position across the courtyard from her. He summoned a ball of green-black energy and rolled it between his hands, waiting.

"Of course you were," smirked Jaina. "You're defending this round. Ready?" She wriggled her fingers expectantly.

"Always," he affirmed and placed his shields just as she attacked, their magic clashing in a tower of light and sound amidst the gently swirling eddy of snowflakes.

* * *

"You could use Naxxramas to practice," suggested Kel'Thuzad the next morning, perusing a battered set of plans spread over the table before him. They were in the kitchen, which had become considerably less populated the moment the lich entered. Imuruk remained, curiously tracing corridors on the map of Naxxramas, and Kagra, watching Kel'Thuzad with open fear yet refusing to leave. "It's uninhabited and already in ruins. If you lose control and crash it, we'll only have to worry about where it comes down."

Jaina nodded. "That's a good idea. It's a fair distance from the Citadel already. Let me grab a second coat and pants, and I'll meet you on the rampart."

"Meet me?"

"I want you there in case I make a mistake."

They ascended to one of the middle balconies along the western side of the Citadel, looking north. The blizzard raged around them, obscuring all but a shadow of the necropolis through the driving snow. Whatever Jaina had done to force the crumbling necropolis back into the sky, it appeared to be holding up well, even in the persistent wind.

"All right, here goes," said Jaina. They blinked to the platform suspended against the underbelly of the necropolis. Jaina staggered at the force of the wind howling through the structure, stumbling sideways in surprise. She jerked herself back, adrenalin flooding through her as she scrambled back from a gaping hole in the floor. Above them, the roof shifted in an unsettling manner.

"Careful," said Kel'Thuzad, voice raised above the sound of the storm. She nodded and picked her way to the nearest wall, leaning into the unrelenting wind. She shut her eyes, concentrating, and rapidly found the inert transportation weaves melded with the stone. Like the reins of a horse, she gathered them loosely, carefully, and held them.

"It's going to collapse the moment we let go," she realized, "I'll move it to an empty part of the ice and we can teleport back out."

"Hmm. I was hoping you would drop it on Ymirheim."

Jaina opened one eye and turned to the lich, giving him a brief look of reprimand. "On an  _empty_  part of the ice," she repeated.

"Yes, my King."

Naxxramas had suffered too much damage to fully reform itself under Jaina's command and there was a large gap in one of the outer walls through which she could see the glacier. Jaina took her bearings. She turned the fortress so the gap faced westward, away from the Citadel, and began driving.

Jaina moved Naxxramas steadily, getting a feel for how the magic responded and how much focus was required to keep the fortress level, steady, and moving. It was slow, careful work. It shed pieces as it moved, disintegrating around her, but the practice was worthwhile. Jaina found it exciting; she had rarely worked with magic of such complexity that required sustained concentration and she rose eagerly to the challenge.

But it was exhausting too. She was so engrossed in her progress that when Kel'Thuzad settled a hand on her shoulder, repeating her name, she jumped and her control stuttered. The tip of her nose and her lips were freezing, and she was acutely aware of the cold. Naxxramas tilted beneath her feet, broken walls bulging with the strain of retaining a rigid form.

"Do you want my help?"

"I think I'll be all right," she replied. The necropolis shuddered around them. It was time to leave. "Get ready." She took a slow breath and methodically relinquished control over the weaves. The flying fortress listed dangerously to one side, the growl of stone grinding on stone as the whole structure imploded in slow motion, crumbling a second time. Jaina grabbed Kel'Thuzad's wrist and teleported. They reappeared on the Citadel's rampart, beyond the thunderous rain of debris, squinting at the toppling wreck.

"I think that went well," she said brightly. Kel'Thuzad didn't answer. She glanced at the lich. "Kel'Thuzad?" He was watching the final collapse of Naxxramas.

"You did very well," he said and turned away from the sight. "Mograine would be foolish to reject your help."

* * *

Mograine did not reject her help, and she felt rather self-conscious as the party crowd from the night before reassembled to watch her bring Acherus around the corner into the lee of the Citadel.

"It's only going to take a minute," she said, peering down at the group below in amazement. Darion leaned on the railing beside her.

"It's something to do," he said. Jaina had expected him to receive her grudgingly after their argument the night before, but Darion was cheered to see her and welcomed her warmly. "Weather sucks but I'm starting to suspect my knights see this storm as a vacation."

Jaina chuckled. "You really keep them working all the time, don't you?" she said.

"Can't let them get lazy just because we aren't at war anymore. Wasn't Amal supposed to be here, helping or watching or something?"

"Yeah. Where is he?"

Darion shook his head. "Probably downstairs still. He's terrified of you."

"Why? I've been nothing but nice to him," she said, disappointed.

"Ah... it's the control thing. Some of us feel it differently. Myself, the other knights, we're pretty independent. Our ghouls'll still run to you if you call, though. Amal's afraid you'll be able to do it to him."

Jaina folded her arms on the railing. "How did he manage to break away from Arthas?" she asked. "I mean, the knights are one thing. You had a certain amount of autonomy to begin with."

"He didn't. When we took Acherus, I gave him the choice: go back to Arthas or come with us. Amal knew if he went back to Arthas, he'd most likely be killed, so he stayed. I figure Arthas left him alone because he wasn't worth the trouble of retrieving. Oh, there he is. Amal, you're late."

"My apologies, Highlord," said Amal'Thazad, with a sidelong glance at Jaina.

"Are we ready then?" asked Darion, looking from Jaina to the lich. She nodded and gestured for Amal'Thazad to join her.

Acherus was smaller than Naxxramas and, as Jaina silently compared the two fortresses, much easier to control. The entire process of transporting it took less than a minute and was entirely flawless.

"It seems quite simple," Amal'Thazad spoke up. Jaina glanced at him, surprised to hear him volunteer an opinion.

"The process is. Maintaining control is the part that drains you," she replied, carefully avoiding eye contact so as not to intimidate him. "Perfecting your meditation will extend how long you can hold the spells."

Darion saw her off and Jaina returned to the Citadel. The spectators had apparently found the process rather anti-climatic and Jaina couldn't blame them, but it didn't stop the crowd from packing back into the kitchen for another few hours of celebration. Jaina joined them until well past sundown, chatting with Imuruk and Kagra in the kitchen, while the more exuberant guests took to the hallway. Starkweather played the fiddle until most of his crew was too exhausted to dance. For the first time in months, Jaina shared food and drinks with other people in her own home. She took her leave just before midnight and returned to her chamber.

Jaina readied herself for bed, but found she couldn't sleep. She spent half an hour staring at the ceiling before she finally gave up and went to her desk. Two hours of reading letters and journals later, there was a knock at her door. She rose, perplexed, put on her robe, and opened the door.

It was Tirion Fordring. He was carrying a cup of tea and looking much too glum for a man who had just come from a party.

"What is it?" she said worriedly. "Come in." He handed her the tea and entered, choosing a chair and facing it toward the one she had just vacated.

"I don't know which is worse," said the paladin heavily, "Fighting undead men with the faces of your friends, or meeting living men with convictions that so strongly oppose my own." He shook his head sadly.

"You're talking about the Cult of the Damned," guessed Jaina.

"I spent a week interviewing them, and another considering my course of action." He ran a hand through his hair. "They're human beings, Jaina. Misled, confused, deluded. Some of them are genuinely dangerous, but they're all  _people_. I sought council from the rest of the Argent Dawn, and from Darion. The consensus was execution."

Jaina pressed her lips together in a thin line, nodding slowly. "Execution." She thought of Sonja; shy, submissive, devoted to the idea of immortality despite the price. "For all of them?"

"All of them," Tirion affirmed. Jaina stared into her tea cup. "The Cult of the Damned is too large and too integral to Arthas' reign to be allowed to continue existing. Kel'Thuzad has inadvertently brought us twenty-five of it's most important members. We need to cripple that organization and this is the best way."

"I talked to some of those Cultists too. I agree they could be dangerous, but this isn't Arthas' reign any longer, Tirion. It's mine." Jaina sat forward, holding the teacup on her lap. "The power I hold influences the Scourge more than we knew. My character is changing the entire attitude and  _design_  of the undead. You've met Talsen, right?"

The paladin nodded, brows furrowed in confusion.

"Talsen is a ghoul. From what I've learned, they aren't supposed to be capable of speech. It isn't part of their particular reanimation process. The spells that innervate them focus on strength and durability, not intelligence, but the first time Kel'Thuzad encountered Talsen, he was trying to talk. After I patched him up, he could talk  _well_. At the time, I didn't know it was not only unusual, it should have been impossible."

"What does this have to do with the Cult, Jaina?"

"It means if they're undead, I can control them," she said. The entire idea revolted her. It had when she first realized how easy it was, and it did even more now after Kel'Thuzad's desolate confession. But it was the only salvation she could offer to the Cult, be they dangerous, shy, or otherwise, and they wanted it, though they couldn't yet comprehend the price.

Tirion tapped his fingers on the arm of his chair. "I'm sorry, Jaina. It isn't about whether you're capable of keeping them in line. It's the principle of the thing: the Cult of the Damned orchestrated mass murder, terrorism, and treason against Lordaeron. They  _must_  be punished."

Jaina set her jaw. "Prove it," she said. Tirion's eyebrows went up.

"I'm sorry?"

"I want you to prove that each of the Cultists in my dungeon deserves to be executed. They're my people, Tirion. I may not have asked to be their advocate, but I inherited them along with the title of Lich King and I will not ignore their rights."

"You were in Lordaeron when the Cult first spread the plague. You saw what it did. And you know who was behind it. How can you defend these people?" asked Tirion, baffled and worried.

Jaina shifted in her seat, crossing her legs at the knee. "I'm not convinced they're guilty of anything other than poor judgement, at this point. Yes, they all practice necromancy. Most of them trained at the Scholomance, and all of them were involved in the war. It's little different from the people on our side," she said. "Would you hold the entire Royal Apothecary Society accountable for the actions of a few at the Wrathgate? Some might, but I wouldn't. And I can't allow these people to face execution for crimes no one is sure they committed."

They stared at each other, unyielding.

"What do you propose?" said Tirion finally.

"Leave them in my custody. I will ensure the living are- are resurrected, I will keep the undead within the limits of the Citadel, and if any of them ever confess or admit to crimes in Lordaeron, I will turn them over to you."

Tirion shook his head. "I'm sorry, Jaina. That's unacceptable."


	14. A Very Loud Lullaby

**Chapter 14 – A Very Loud Lullaby**

Jaina sighed behind her triple-wrapped woolen scarf and tightened her grip on the dragon's neck.

When she'd vowed to ride the frostwyrm making its home atop the Citadel, she hadn't thought about the basic anatomical difficulty the endeavour would present. Some Death Knights rode smaller undead drakes but they used reins and saddles. Jaina had neither. The frostwyrm's thoracic vertebrae had spinous processes almost a foot long that made sitting where the saddle would normally be placed too dangerous. If the wyrm reared up or arched backwards, a bareback rider would be impaled or crushed between the exposed bones, and even without that risk, it was an awkward location. Jaina had spent the majority of her first ride just trying to stay on.

Afterward, she'd taken a studious look at the dragon's spine, all the while aware she was being sized up by the undead beast. After some consideration, she climbed back aboard and straddled the first thoracic vertebrae. It was longer than the others, shaped more like the cylindrical cervical bones to which it connected, and free of potential crushing or stabbing elements. When the dragon was at rest, it angled steeply downwards, but in flight, as they were now, the frostwyrm lowered its head and raised its shoulders and Jaina found herself with an unobstructed view forward and a decently comfortable seat. For an extra measure of safety, she had looped a leather lead around her hips and tied it securely twice around the vertebrae.

At the moment, her perch gave her an unrelenting face-full of snow, alleviated by her scarf, goggles, fur hat, and knotted hood. The blizzard had continued unabated for four days now. It raged around the Citadel in a white snarl, paralyzing Acherus, local adventurers, and the remaining Argent Dawn paladins. Everyone had moved inside the Citadel or the Ebon Hold, and they were all feeling restless, bored, and trapped. Jaina had consulted every shaman and druid she could find and none of them could tell her with certainty when the storm would pass.

"It's... big," said Imuruk vaguely, and apologized for his imprecision.

Thus, Jaina had decided to take the matter into her own hands and fly  _above_  the storm on the frostwyrm this morning, in an attempt to scout out the potential longevity of the blizzard. She'd bundled herself into every piece of winter clothing she owned except the black cloak, which she thought might be a distinct hazard in flight. So much clothing made it awkward to move but once she and the dragon got into the thick of the white-out, she was thankful for every stitch. The first time she had flown, Jaina had been sorely under-dressed. Hastened by necessity, she had devised a simple, perpetual spell that warmed her skin and nothing beyond, but in the sky the wind sliced through it now and then, leaving her gasping at the searing cold.

"Up, Lyessera," Jaina murmured, her mental voice reaching the dragon despite the constant scream of the wind.

The frostwyrm had been adamant about her name and gender. She was quite mad, communicating solely in images, brief flashes of memory like fireworks, dimming swiftly and jumbled across each other. Jaina guessed by her size and name that the frostwyrm had once been a green dragon, a guardian of nature and the Emerald Dream. When the Cult of the Damned had gone out into the Dragonblight, raising the bones of long-passed wyrms for the Lich King's army, they had not been picky about which flight the creatures hailed from. Once undead, the frostwyrms were under Scourge control. Privately, Jaina could think of few things more sad than an undead green dragon; a creature who's very magic entwined with the life-force of all things, the anti-thesis of undeath.  _No wonder she went mad,_ Jaina thought sadly. Lyessera was, however, amenable to being ridden. Perhaps it was Jaina's warm, living heartbeat so close to the dragon's frozen bones, but the frostwyrm seemed to delight in carrying her new King.

Now, they fought the strength of the wind, beginning to make vertical headway as Jaina clung to Lyessera's neck and murmured a constant stream of encouragment. As they climbed, Jaina hung on resolutely, squinting into the unending stream of white through her amber-tinted goggles as the storm heaved the mighty frostwyrm up and down tunnels of howling wind.

There was one dizzying second where Lyessera's right wing was abruptly slapped shut by a rogue gale, causing the dragon to do a barrel roll, and Jaina to shriek with heart-felt terror, then they burst up through the roof of clouds and driven ice. The wind and sound fell away; the snow disappeared.

Jaina let out a long, slow breath, awed by the cold serenity of the dark morning sky and the savage landscape of the storm beneath her.  _Wow._  The frostwyrm hovered, tattered wings beating heavily against the suddenly still air. Jaina urged her forward and they glided into the star-speckled black.

The storm went on for kilometers to the east. They flew for some time until the edge became visible, Jaina mesmerized by the turbulent vista laid out below. She observed it from a safe distance above, wrapped in her spell and her thick fur-lined clothing, estimating how many days it would take to dissipate.  _Not much longer_ , she thought optimistically.  _Three days on the outside, with the speed it's moving._  When they found its eastern-most point, the blizzard was weaker, a fitful snowfall.  _Everyone who wants to leave can do so in two days._

Jaina turned the frostwyrm and headed for home. It was not only the need for a weather report that drove her into the frigid sky. Her discussion with Tirion four nights prior regarding the Cult of the Damned haunted her. Part of her, an older part, a part that recalled her rule of Theramore and devotion to Dalaran, wanted to let him execute the group. She could rationalize it as fitting punishment and an end to Arthas' reign, let it happen, and  _almost_  no one would fault her for doing so. She had seen first-hand the devastation in Lordaeron, and despite the varied, human reasons the members in her prison had given for joining the Scourge, part of her still believed they were irredeemable for consciously choosing to cause others harm through their participation in the Cult.

But there was another part of her, a newer and differently subjective part, that realized the Lich King's living subordinates were as much her responsibility as the legions of the undead. It didn't matter whether she could sympathize with them or not. As ruler of Theramore, Jaina hadn't always  _liked_  everyone in her employ, but she had always been fair. To let Tirion, who was neither a citizen of her new empire, or even technically an ally, dictate the fate of her people was to invite seditious criticism, both from the Scourge and from the world at large that was undoubtedly awaiting her decision. She needed to choose their fate herself and explain her reasons, knowing no matter what she chose, there would be debate.

The trouble was that the living Cult members weren't obedient minds bent eternally to her will. They were cunning men and women who wanted power, knowledge, strength, and prestige, and had been working for it as long as Jaina had been working against them. They could very well be dangerous to her even if she let them live. The Vrykul too had been loyal, living servants to Arthas' reign and still they disbelieved Jaina's succession. Why should the Cultists be any different? Certainly her morals would conflict with many of the reasons they intially joined the Scourge, and unlike their undead counterparts, they could walk away from her rule.  _Since when are the living more dangerous than the undead?_

Lost in thought, Jaina was suddenly jolted in her seat as Lyessera banked into a tight turn.

"We're not home," said Jaina quizically, "what is it?" A split-second image, black and white, unidentified blobs gathered on the glacier below them. Blobs with heartbeats. Lyessera could sense them through the layers of wind and snow. Jaina reached outwards as well, carefully searching for the pips of darkness that indicated living creatures in her mind's eye. Nothing came to her at first, so she concentrated, practicing the search technique she had been perfecting for the past weeks. The wind yanked at her clothing, slapped her hands off the tether, and tossed the dragon side to side, up and down, like an ornery horse. Jaina gritted her teeth and hung on. There was a blotch of darkness on the ice below but she couldn't establish any detail.

Lyessera yowled her annoyance more than once, struggling against the currents. Then, for several surreal minutes, they were moving the same speed and direction as the snowflakes, falling unchecked, part of the storm, and Jaina rode a dizzying spell of euphoria as they became one with the awesome mayhem.

Then they were through and the frostwyrm soared out of the low cloud in a tight spiral. Jaina saw a meager fire flickering between the screen of bodies and directed the dragon to land nearby.  _Why would anyone be out here, without shelter, in such awful weather?_ Before she dismounted, she studied the group briefly: Orcs, perhaps forty, bunched around the fire, shielding the flames with their bodies to keep it alight. Jaina saw several crossbows quickly brought to bear and threw a shield down before herself just in time to ward off a spray of black-fletched bolts.

She knew about twenty words in Orcish, four of which were 'please', 'don't', 'kill' and 'me'.

"Stop!" she bellowed in the gutteral language, voice amplified by magic and shock. "Not hurt," she added hastily as weapons of all descriptions were brought to bear. "Help you?" There was a profound sense of embarrassment involved in attempting to communicate through the language barrier. Jaina knew it made her sound graceless and ignorant, but she hoped she could get her point across. None of the weapons moved, but a particularly large, scarred male Orc bulled his way to the front of the group, and eyed her warily. He was wearing nowhere near enough clothing to be comfortable at the current temperature.

He tossed challenging words in her direction, lips rising in a snarl. Jaina shook her head.

"No understand," she said helplessly. "Common?"

"Of course 'Common'," spat the apparent leader, "why bother learning the slaves language? Let us learn yours."

Jaina swallowed. He looked old enough to have lived in the internment camps. "Do you need help?" she asked simply. Her initial chagrin about the language barrier deepened. She pushed her goggles up onto her forehead and unwrapped her scarf. "Are you lost?"

The Orc gave a bark of laughter. "Are we lost?" he turned back to the group behind him, "She wants to know if we're lost." There was a weak ripple of grunts and chuckles. "No, we just came out to enjoy the weather. Of course we're lost! What're you going to do about it?"

"I can lead you to Icecrown Citadel," she offered. At this, the leader took several steps toward her, squinting wolf-yellow eyes. He straightened up and raised twin axes threateningly.

"Thrall's Beard!" he exclaimed, "You're the bloody Lady Lich King!" Jaina noted that this observation was met with a discrete scramble behind him to fill every hand with a weapon. "What're  _you_  doing out here?"

"Checking out the weather," she said lamely.

"Checking to see how much wretched misery your damned magic can spread, more like."

"No!" said Jaina, "I can't control the weather. Believe me, if I could-"

"You'd toss the storm and lead us personally back to Warsong Hold?" he said sarcastically. Jaina paused before replying.  _Well, yes, that is likely what I would offer if I could control the weather. How does he make that sound so silly?_

"I can't get you to Warsong Hold," she said, "but the Citadel is warm. And this way." She pointed. The Orc didn't move. Jaina waited. Lyessera yawned behind her.

"What's the worst that could happen?" said another Orc, a younger male. There was a bandage tied around his upper arm, smudged with dried blood. "Either we'll freeze to death out here or she'll kill us in there." The leader cuffed him, hard.

"Coward!" he barked. "I'll freeze before I let that witch make a puppet of me. And so'll the rest of you!" There wasn't much vocal dissent. Jaina bid Lyessera stay, and slowly moved toward the group. They held their ground and at first Jaina thought it was plain old Orc stubbornness or a reluctance to forsake the only source of heat. Then she noticed the two bundles wrapped in furs beside the fire. A pair of large brown eyes peered at her from one.

Jaina gasped. "What's wrong with you!" she said angrily, "Why would you bring children out here?"

The leader puffed out his chest, baring his fangs. "I suggest you fly back into your cursed storm and leave us to our business."

Jaina stomped a foot, sending up a little whorl of powdered snow. "You be a fool if you like, but don't damn the rest of your people! Let them come back to the Citadel with me. I have no intention of killing or torturing anyone- do you know who I was before I was the Lich King?"

There was some mumbling among the group.

"You're Jaina Proudmoore," said the younger male, glaring sideways at his superior, "You fought beside our Warchief in the Battle of Mount Hyjal. You saved his life, even though he killed your father. Maruz, don't be an idiot-" he ducked out of the way as the older Orc swung for him, "-if she meant us harm, don't you think she'd have harmed us by now?" Heads nodded all around.

Maruz flashed Jaina another snarl. "Maybe I had some respect for you once," he growled, "Jaina Proudmoore. Let's find out how you've changed." Jaina nodded.

"Thank you for the chance to prove myself," she said graciously, and raised her hands, magic glittering in a visible aura around them. Someone in the crowd yelped in fear, but it was too late: Jaina mass-teleported the entire group to the front steps of the Citadel. She could have sent herself and Lyessera home at the same time, but the encounter had shattered what calm she had been approaching. She still needed to decide what to do with the Cultists.

She mounted the frostwyrm, clinging grimly as the beast battled her way back through the clouds to the tranquil darkness above. A few minutes later, Jaina realized she was chilled. The spell she had made to keep her warm was still active, but weak. Jaina groaned to herself. Teleporting forty people several hundred kilometers had been the largest expenditure of her own energy since the battle with the Vrykul. She had been careful with how much of her magic she used since then, and catalogued the after-effects she felt in case the Lich King's insidious power began to destroy her from the inside out again. So far, she had experienced nothing at all dangerous.

_There's nothing to do but pay attention and fly home,_  she decided and did just that.

Lyessera landed on the tallest rampart, so high up that the ice-fog which collected around the base of the Citadel was a wispy white moat far below. Jaina stiffly opened her fingers and slid clumsily down from Lyessera's neck. The dragon watched her, but offered no help. Madness and undeath had voided her of readable expression. Nevertheless, Jaina bowed.

"Thank you," she said reverently. It never hurt to be nice.

No one met her at the side entrance when she scrambled in, swiftly shoving the heavy iron door shut behind her, now shivering with real force. She made her way to her chamber, chilled and shaking, the warmth inside the Citadel turning her frozen boots to squelchy swamps. As soon as she had her door closed, Jaina stripped out of her cold, damp clothing, and drew the black cloak around her shoulders, snuggling into the warm weight of it. After several minutes, she stopped shivering.

**Talsen,**  she called finally. She sensed the ghoul's instant acknowledgment.  **Please inform Highlord Fordring I am ready to continue our discussion. Have him meet me outside the Cultist's cell.** She quickly washed her face and arms, re-dressed in formal silks, and brushed her hair. She had always worn her long hair loose, privately enjoying the way it fell around her head and shoulders like a curtain. After the Lich King's magic had turned it white, she found herself braiding it more and more often to keep the disturbing colour out of her vision. Jaina wouldn't have thought herself vain until now; she hated her deathly pallor and frosted locks. It aged her, and estranged her from normal humans. She quickly plaited her hair and tossed the braid over her shoulder.

On her way to the dungeon, she detoured past the kitchen. It was well-populated though low-key this morning.

"Kel'Thuzad says you were doing something foolish," said Imuruk conversationally, appearing suddenly beside her. Jaina squashed the urge to jump. She hadn't seen the shaman when she entered which, since he was an eight-foot tall bug, probably meant she was deep in thought.

"Hm. I'm not sure whether to interpret that as concern or jealousy." Jaina headed for tea and toast, giving a nod of recognition to the group seated around the table. Most of them were Acherus Death Knights. "It appears the storm should break in two or three days," she told them and there were sighs and murmurs of thanks.

"Oh! You did take the frostwyrm out flying, then?" continued Imuruk, gliding along at her side.

"Was that foolish?"

"I imagine it was spectacular."

Jaina smiled at his sincerity. "It was. May I ask what it is that you and Kel'Thuzad talk about when you visit him?" From what Jaina gathered, Imuruk fell into the rare category of People Kel'Thuzad Didn't Find Entirely Useless, but what Imuruk got out of their peculiar relationship Jaina couldn't say.

"He's writing a paper," replied the Nerubian enthusiastically. "I'm helping him edit it."

"Really?" asked Jaina, surprised and a little envious. She'd quietly handed the Helm of Domination over to Kel'Thuzad three days ago. Since then, the lich hadn't left his lab, working non-stop with the artifact, and their necromancy lessons had been shorter than usual. Being prone to studying for long hours herself, eschewing food, drink, and sleep, Jaina admitted that under those specific circumstances, undeath had a practical appeal. "What's the paper on?"

"Necrotised cell revival by assisted anaplerotic metabolism," recited Imuruk.

Jaina looked up sharply. "Healing necromantic damage? Wait. Living cells or dead cells?"

"Living," said Imuruk warily.

"Is he experimenting with living subjects?"

"The paper is purely observational. His observations of you, mostly."

Jaina raised an eyebrow. "Really."

"Kel'Thuzad was curious how your body continued to recover after you were injured, once Highlord Fordring and I were no longer involved in your healing. He assures me a normal human body would not survive the damage you underwent- all anecdotal information from previous, um, experiments, of course- but he suspects the Lich King's powers are somehow adapting to the fact that you're a living host." He paused and helped himself to a handful of salted meat. "For someone who speaks well, his writing is terribly disorganized."

"He's been studying  _me_?"

"Wouldn't you? You're unique."

Jaina hesitated. "Well, perhaps." Then she frowned. "A paper? Not just notes for his own research? Where exactly does he hope to get it published?"

Imuruk made a pointed attempt to avoid Jaina's gaze. "I'm not sure..."

Jaina frowned around her toast. "I'll deal with that later. Imuruk, you might want to reconsider your involvement if he's going to try something... illegal."

"It's not illegal."

"Immoral, then."

"I don't recall morals being a part of the submission guidelines," said Imuruk innocently. Jaina eyed him thoughtfully.

"I'm beginning to understand why you two get along."

* * *

Tirion Fordring and another paladin of the Argent Dawn were waiting at the make-shift dungeon when Jaina arrived. Talsen lurked nearby, uncomfortable in the presence of the holy warriors, though they were mostly ignoring him. Jaina was prepared to make a courteous greeting, but the prevailing mien of the pair was much too serious and dour for small talk. She flattened her expression and straightened her posture.

"Highlord," she said politely, "Sir."

"Lady Jaina," replied Tirion. "We wish to interrogate all twenty-five Cultists. We already know much about their participation in recent events, however you've made it clear that stronger evidence is required to merit their execution. It is our intent to question them again about their actions  _before_  your reign."

"Tirion, I have no problem with you gathering this information, but I do have a problem about the use you intend to put it to." Jaina folded her arms resolutely. "Life imprisonment for the Cultists, within the Citadel, is the only solution I'm prepared to accept."

The Highlord shook his head. "These aren't common citizens, Jaina. They're criminals and the people they've wronged need to see justice done."

"And I agree with you, but killing them will only show the other Cult of the Damned members still abroad across Northrend, and in the Eastern Kingdoms, that it is safer to stay where they are. I'll wager you'd much rather have them out of your territories, wouldn't you?"

"Of course I would," replied Tirion, "and I would rest even easier knowing these miscreants were gone permanently. It isn't only that. You need to make a statement and I for one believe the statement you make to the world at large is more important than the one you make to a group of cowardly sadists."

Jaina considered her words before replying. "I do see your point. But I must respectfully disagree. If I show the Cult that I am merciful, either they will be thankful or they will be resentful. If they resent me for that, then I've lost nothing. If they're grateful, then I've gained trust and the hope that they may relinquish their sadism and abide by my rule."

"And if they commit further crimes under your protection, then you will have enabled them."

"Perhaps. But they will have broken my law, and I will deal with them summarily and permanently. If, however, I were to let you pursue their execution outright, the world might come to trust me, but the Cult never would."

Tirion frowned. "So you choose the friendship of the Cult over your older alliances?"

"No. I have one chance to convince the Cultists that coming to the Citadel is safe. If it works, I can recall them from every corner of Azeroth. Surely the rest of the world can see the benefit of that."

Tirion was quiet, pondering her argument. "Maybe if you become better acquainted with the people you're defending, you might change your mind. Join us. They will be interrogated, their histories vetted as much as we are able, and their identities verified."

Jaina nodded once. It made sense to know who she was protecting, and acquiescing to this request might make bargaining with Tirion easier when he brought up the topic of execution again. "Let's get started."

Tirion, Jaina, and a rheumy-eyed older paladin named Warwick took each Cultist into an empty room across the hall and questioned them individually for the next nine hours. Some of them were openly hostile. Some of the undead members flaunted their state in front of the paladins. Some of them lied. All of them looked to Jaina at least once during their interrogation, for support or direction or curiosity.

Jaina learned more about the Cult of the Damned in those nine hours than she had in the past nine years. Her presence made them bold, almost fearless, and for the most part they spoke wantonly of their operations. The living were more wary than the undead, and when they glanced at Jaina, there was confusion and desperation in their eyes. She could do more than just save their lives; she could save their chance at immortality.

When she and the paladins finally finished, Jaina turned to Tirion. "None of the six Thuzadin have verifiable charges against them," she said.

Warwick and Tirion glanced at each other. "Because they were Kel'Thuzad's elite," said Tirion, "and we can only guess what he put them up to."

"Be that as it may," continued Jaina, "without evidence of their guilt, you have no legal reason to call for their deaths." Warwick snorted.

"We will find reasons," he vowed. It was now long after supper and Jaina was exhausted. She dragged herself to the kitchen, only to be shooed towards her bed by Earthsinger, who sent Talsen up after her with a plate of food. Jaina was too tired to protest the ghoul handling her dinner and ate in her room.

Jaina woke the next morning feeling hot, congested, and dizzy.  _Just what I need_ , she thought,  _a fever._ She pushed back the covers with some difficulty, discovering both Dreilide and Kel'Thuzad's cat curled up together on top of the quilt. Dreilide wagged his tail; the cat opened one eye halfway. Jaina groaned.  _Well, at least I'm not sick. I just have uninvited blankets._

"Off," she said firmly, pointing at the floor. The plague hound went with a guilty expression but the cat closed its eye and snuggled back into the covers. Jaina picked it up and deposited it beside Dreilide, where it indignantly licked it's fur. "Go on, both of you. Out. Go." She shepherded the animals into the hallway. A moment later, there was a knock at the door. Jaina threw the cloak over her nightgown.

"Yes?"

"It's Darion."

"Oh, good morning." She stepped into the hallway. "What brings you here so early?"

"Nice robe. I heard you went out flying yesterday. Now, I was gonna come and tell you that was crazy, but since you're still alive and everyone is talking about how soon the storm will break, I'm here to ask if... you want to go do it again?"

Jaina smiled blearily. "I... I don't know, Darion. It's really cold, and I've got Tirion presenting hours and hours of evidence against the Cult today."

"You'll want some fresh air before you get into that surely, won't you?" he pressed.

"Hmm. Okay. But it'll have to be quick, and I have to eat first."

"All right! I'll meet you up there." He grinned. Jaina waved and closed the door, realizing moments later that during their conversation, Mr Bigglesworth had snuck back in. The cat was once more ensconced on her bed. Jaina sneezed explosively.

"Out, you sneaky fur-ball!"

* * *

By the time Jaina reached the upper ramparts, Darion and his skeletal gryphon had met Lyessera. The Death Knight cautiously approached the frostwyrm, who appeared completely uninterested in him.

"She's magnificent," Darion said over his shoulder to Jaina. "Look at that wingspan. You must've been one regal lady when you were alive." Jaina smiled. "Are you ready?"

"Ready when you are," she answered and climbed up the frostwyrm's foreleg to her seat. Darion urged his gryphon to a gallop, then swooped off the edge of the building. Lyessera made a single leap and followed. It was impossible to talk while in flight, but they circled and dove, tossed and shaken by the wind, chasing each other through the storm for pure fun. Darion was right; it was refreshing.

The Death Knight commander clapped his mittened hands vigorously. "Whoo! I don't know how you stand it up there. The cold makes  _me_  freeze up."

"I designed a spell to keep myself warm." They rounded the corner and began to descend the stairs. "And the Lich King's magic has made me somewhat impervious to cold."

"Yeah? Guess it's not all bad then. If you have to live up here, I mean. Do you think it knows?"

"Think  _what_  knows?"

"The power you've got. You think it knows you're alive and need to be warm?"

They left the stairway. "No," said Jaina, "I think I may have subconsciously caused the magic to manifest the trait."  _I think I'd like to read that paper Kel'Thuzad is working on..._

"Huh. That's pretty useful, conscious or no." Jaina walked with him back to the kitchen.

"Hey, Darion? That  _was_  a good idea," she said, pausing in the doorway. "If you want to do this again tomorrow morning, there's still a couple days of storm left, and I can put my warmth spell on you too, if you wish."

Darion smiled. "I'll come find you." As he turned away and entered the room, Jaina caught a glimpse of the unholy magic instructor from Acherus, the blood elf Alistra. She was glaring at Jaina with such venomous intensity it made her wince. What had she ever done to the woman to merit such hostility? Surely if she feared Jaina as the Lich King, then seeing Darion interact with her on friendly terms should raise her opinion, unless Alistra didn't trust her commander's judgement, or suspected Jaina of some nefarious arcane manipulation of him.

Jaina headed for the dungeon, wounded by Alistra's powerful dislike. The woman barely knew her; there was no reasonable explanation why Alistra should act the way she did. Jaina paused. Both times, she'd run across Alistra in the presence of Darion and if one overlooked Jaina's position, Alistra's reaction to her seemed very much like jealousy.

"Oh good lord," muttered Jaina, both annoyed and relieved by the woman's misinterpretation of the situation. It was refreshing to know someone could still dislike her for a perfectly regular reason. And how would Jaina have known Alistra harboured affectionate feelings for her commander? She'd only just met the woman for the first time a few days ago. Jaina groaned.  _Of course, when I met her, I was playing on my femininity in an attempt to get Darion to see more than an old enemy with new looks._  It was still a ploy that she found rather embarrassing.  _Well, logical arguments didn't work, and actions of good faith didn't either!_  The simple tactic had put just a crack in his uniform distrust of her, and allowed her to pursue a more civilized dialogue. It had worked.  _Perhaps too well_ , she thought now. Darion seemed genuinely intrigued by her.  _I suppose I could just explain it to Alistra, though she doesn't seem the type to sit down and listen. Perhaps if I froze most of her first..._

Jaina pushed the issue out of her mind upon arrival at the dungeon. She went across the hall to their impromptu interrogation room. It had been an armory once, quickly picked bare by the defending Scourge and invading adventurers. The door was thick, windowless iron and the walls were still lined with empty racks. These were bolted securely into the stone and had served well as a place to anchor the Cultists shackles during questioning.

Jaina steeled herself for a long debate and entered. Tirion and Warwick greeted her solemnly. They reviewed the order in which each person's case would be presented, then Warwick escorted the first Cultist into the room to hear the evidence presented against them. Jaina felt it was only fair that they should be given the opportunity.

Tirion spoke thoroughly on each case, referencing admissions by the Cultists themselves, and eyewitness accounts from reputable sources, mostly other paladins. Once he produced a dagger, half of a pair owned by one of the necromancers, found buried in the eye-socket of a hapless Ironforge pikeman. Slowly, they worked their way down the list of names until only six were left: Kel'Thuzad's Thuzadin, five of whom remained living. The sixth was the black-haired, undead woman who had first spoken to Jaina when the Cult arrived on her doorstep. Her name was Lilly.

"A woman matching her description was seen driving a wagon later identified to be transporting grain infected by the plague of undeath to villages in northern Lordaeron," Warwick rattled off.

"Have you an eyewitness to present this claim?" interjected Jaina.

"No, we have not. We have an old Silver Hand document describing a tall, black-haired woman with dark skin-"

"That is conjecture, not proof," said Jaina. Warwick turned the page.

"A woman matching her description was also seen participating in the assault on Light's Hope Chapel-"

"Where, notoriously, the entire attacking Scourge force, except Kel'Thuzad, were killed," said Jaina firmly.

"She was part of his retinue and could have easily teleported away-"

"Lord Kel'Thuzad would never allow us to behave in such a cowardly fashion," growled Lilly, insulted. "We are sworn to his side, even unto death." Tirion sighed quietly.

"We have an eyewitness for the next account, if it pleases you to wait." It did not please Lilly. She tapped her foot impatiently, arms folded stubbornly, yellow eyes boring into Tirion's fearlessly. There was a predatory intelligence in her and a self-confidence that Jaina was surprised to find in one so thoroughly devoted to the cause of another.

The door creaked open as Warwick returned and Jaina looked up. Lady Alistra sneered back at her. She turned and took a seat at Tirion's elbow. Lilly's lips pinched into a hard line and she turned her gaze on the Death Knight trainer.

"Lady Alistra will be providing testimony against the Thuzadin. Were it not for her place within Naxxramas for training and later Acherus, she would not have been privy to these examples. Alistra, the information that you provide here will lead to the conviction and possibly the execution of the Cultists you identify. Do you understand this purpose?"

"I do, Highlord."

"What do you know of this woman?"

Alistra turned to the Thuzadin woman with a measuring gaze. "Her name is Lilly. She was one of the lich's  _special_  pets."

"Describe to Lady Jaina her actions during the months you spent training in Naxxramas with the other Death Knights."

Alistra snorted. "What  _didn't_  she do. This one was particularly eager to please her master. For several weeks, she murdered groups of captives, with three of her living cohorts. While the others restrained the victims, this one would measure their limbs, check their teeth, slit their throat, and hoist their corpses upside down like hunted animals to drain. Men, women, and children. They were  _parts_  for whatever experiment her master was running." Jaina flicked her gaze to Lilly, who made no reaction to the accusation.

"You witnessed her murdering Lordaeron citizens, then?"

"Yes, absolutely."

"Lilly, were you stationed in Naxxramas to assist Kel'Thuzad in his necromantic experiments?"

"Yes, I was."

"And was slaughtering innocent people part of that assistance?"

"It was my privilege to end their lives and facilitate their resurrection," hissed Lilly, sulphurous gaze burning with fury and fear.

"Thank you for your testimony, Lady Alistra."

Jaina struggled to contain her mixed emotions. How could such a seemingly competent woman as Lilly willfully participate in the atrocities Alistra had described? How could she callously murder strangers, other women, children, and find justification for it anywhere in her conscience? Did she truly believe she was leading them to a better existence as one of the undead? Jaina forced the questions away. She had asked herself similar things over and over about the lich himself, and found no satisfying answer. She was defending these people.

Alistra saw herself out, and Warwick escorted Lilly back to her cell. Jaina rubbed her forehead with one hand.

"This  _is_  justice," said Tirion gently.

"No," replied Jaina, "it's just revenge." She sighed deeply and looked at her hands, folded on the table top. "She killed for her beliefs and we kill for ours. How is that any different?"

The paladin shifted in his seat. "Our beliefs do not condone the murder of children."

"Oh no?" countered Jaina, thinking of the scarred old Orc she'd met on the ice the previous morning. "My father told me that before the internment camps were in place, the best way to control the Orc population was to control the size of 'future generations'. How do you suppose they did that?"

Tirion bowed his head. "There are things in humanity's past that we must learn from, and never repeat."

Warwick returned with another of the Thuzadin, a bearded older man with sunken gray-green eyes. His name was Eric. As Tirion read off the alleged charges against him, Jaina turned them down one by one as having insufficient proof. Finally, Tirion called for an eyewitness and once again, Lady Alistra was brought into the room. Jaina frowned, seeing a trend.

"I saw this man feed the plague formula to a number of captured Scarlet Crusaders during the early days of the war, one at a time. He made their comrades kill them once they were undead." Alistra crossed her legs and leaned her elbows on the table. "The last man, he just let starve to death."

Eric raised a bushy eyebrow. "W-would it matter if I stated, for your record, that I was never stationed in Naxxramas?"

"It would," said Jaina.

"I remained at the Scholomance in a teaching position, where, to my knowledge, Lady Alistra never visited."

Jaina turned to Alistra, eyes narrowed, an angry blush spreading across her cheekbones. "Did you not swear to the truth of your statements? What is the meaning of this?"

Alistra bared her teeth between crimson lips as she snapped a response. "This man is a liar! Who's word will you take, Highlord? Mine, or his lies?"

"While I believe you are a much more reliable source in this matter, I must document his denial, and the truth will remain in doubt."

Jaina stared from Alistra to Eric. The man was living; she couldn't use her insight with the undead to tell whether he was being sincere or not. His ashen complexion and shaking hands indicated nothing but heartfelt fear, and if he was afraid because he was wrongly accused, or because he had been found out, Jaina couldn't differentiate. Warwick escorted him out and this time, Alistra didn't leave. She stayed for the next examination, and the next, and the next, and the next.

When Jaina shot down the anecdotal evidence presented in each Cultist's case, Alistra would speak up with a damning tale of violence and cruelty. The final Thuzadin, the necromancer named Stavros, had nothing at all linking him to the Cult's actions besides his own admission.

"I am your servant," he said humbly to Jaina when he took his seat, and stared calmly across the table at Tirion.

"We have no evidence this man ever even  _existed_  outside the Cult of the Damned," said Warwick.

"He was a merchant," said Alistra smugly, "an alchemist's apprentice who wanted to learn magic, so he joined the Cult." The tale seemed familiar and after a moment Jaina placed it: it was the history Kel'Thuzad had given her under-cover as Kazimir Frostblood.

"And did you personally observe him doing anything unlawful while you were involved with the Scourge?" asked Jaina.

"Yes," she answered, "He tasked himself with breaking the will of female Death Knights who were considered 'non-compliant'. I saw him visit all manner of unspeakable humiliation on my sisters, and those he couldn't degrade into obedience, he murdered."

Stavros' eyes narrowed. "She lies!" he said sharply.

"Your denial sickens me," snarled Alistra, slapping one pale hand against the table-top. She turned to Tirion. "He deserves your blade, more than any other."

"Her words are false," argued Stavros, affronted, "And she knows you won't catch her at it because none of you worked in the Scourge! Disobedient Death Knights weren't broken or corrected by any means _;_  they were killed out-right, and  _she should know._  My work in Naxxramas was confined to the construct quarter. I never so much as saw the Death Knight's wing of the necropolis."

Jaina clenched her jaw and glared at Alistra.

"How many of your other testimonies have been laced with lies?" she snarled, appalled.

"You believe him?" said Alistra incredulously. "Well,  _you_  would. Highlord, certainly you don't-"

"Lady Alistra, this is the second time your account has been contested. We were grateful when you volunteered your testimony as an inside perspective, but it is useless to us if your words are not entirely truthful."

Jaina turned to Stavros. "On my life, do you swear that what you've stated is completely honest?"

"On your life, Master," he said earnestly, "I swear it. I have no recollection of any offense against Lady Alistra that could inspire her to these accusations, but her accusations are untrue. I never left the construct quarter of Naxxramas, nor harmed any Death Knight, male or female."

_It's not about what you did,_  thought Jaina, incensed,  _She's trampling over a fair trial with her fictitious bullshit to get back at_ me _for being friendly with Darion. You unjust, heartless bitch! How could you?_

"Lady Alistra, you are excused," said Tirion. Neither he nor Warwick got up to show her the door. Jaina remained focused on Stavros.

"I swear," he repeated, "she's lying."

"I believe you," said Jaina, and beside her she saw Tirion slowly nodding.

"Warwick," said the Highlord, "return this man to the dungeon."

Though Tirion was personally convinced of the Thuzadin's guilt, Lady Alistra's fallacious words had cast doubt on all of their cases. Jaina argued vehemently that they couldn't be certain how much of what she said was embellished or completely non-factual, despite circuitous admissions by Lilly and two of the other Thuzadin concerning their involvement. Without Alistra's testimony, there was nothing to charge them with.  _Your petty plan back-fired_ , thought Jaina bitterly, as she left the dungeon hours later.  _All of that malice cast on complete strangers just because you don't like me! I wonder what tales they could tell about you..._

In the end, all but the six Thuzadin were proven to have had some criminal part in the war. To abide by his own rules, Tirion legally had to let them go.  _Six down, nineteen to go,_ thought Jaina. He still wanted execution for the remaining Cultists but it was late and neither of them were up for continuing the discussion.

Now, she stalked through the Citadel sleepless with fury at Alistra's tampering, searching for a diversion, preferably one she could blast into little pieces. She thought about asking Kel'Thuzad to spar, but with her so angry and him so distracted by his research, Jaina wondered if she might not end up damaging the lich accidentally. Instead, she prowled the deep places of Icecrown Citadel, exploring and thinking.

She left through a rear door, leading onto a narrow promontory overlooking the precipitous drop to the frozen Crystalsong river far below. The height was breath-taking. Jaina folded her arms over the railing and stared into the abyss. Far in the distance, partially obscured by the faint veil of the aurora, floated Dalaran.

The surreal beauty of the panorama did nothing to quell her resentment of Alistra. She could understand Tirion's motivations against the Cult; she could understand Darion's hatred of Kel'Thuzad. But for this woman to knowingly sabotage the inquest simply as a way to punish Jaina for something she had no control over incensed her. Partially, Jaina realized, this was because the lives of the Cultists actually mattered to her, despite how conflicted she felt after hearing some of their histories.

_I should go to her now, and explain the whole matter. At the very least, hopefully a rational conversation will keep her from making anymore attempts to interfere in my kingdom._  Jaina took a deep breath of frigid night air and picked her way back through the Citadel, searching for Alistra.

"She's back on Acherus," one helpful Death Knight informed her.

"Thank you."

Jaina teleported up to the Ebon Hold, pausing on the threshold. The skeletal gryphons used by the Death Knights for aerial transport watched her with empty eyes from their tethers. She didn't like entering uninvited. A few of the Acherus knights gave her long, calculating looks as she moved through the fortress, but they let her be. Jaina had Alistra's teaching alcove in sight when Darion fell into step beside her.

"Good evening, Lady Jaina. What brings you into my realm at so late an hour?" Jaina winced inwardly at his blatantly flirticious tone. She glanced toward the alcove.

"Hello Darion. Ah, actually I'm looking for Lady Alistra," she said. Darion frowned.

"If this is about her disrupting the Cult trial, you and Tirion have my formal apology and I'll be seeing to her discipline myself."

"No, no, this is personal business, but, um, thank you." She glimpsed a swish of red hair and sleek black armour in the alcove and tried to edge past the Death Knight. Too late, Alistra spotted Jaina. Her blazing eyes narrowed to slits and her lips flattened into a razor line. Jaina squeezed by Darion, raising a hand to the instructor in vain. "Lady Alistra! Wait!" But the woman whirled and strode away, heels snapping like shots against the stone. Jaina gave an exasperated sigh. "Alistra!"

"You two have a fight or something?" said Darion, mystified. "I didn't know you were friends."

Jaina leaned her head back against the wall in defeat. "We're not friends," she said. "I just wanted to talk to her in hopes that we might not end up enemies." She turned to leave, then hesitated. "Are you involved with anyone? Romantically involved?"

"Like a girlfriend? Naw," he said, shaking his head. "Before, I was too busy commanding the Ebon Blade to find one, and now I'm too busy commanding half the Ashen Verdict to keep one." He gave her a lop-sided smile. "You probably know what that's like." Jaina nodded.

"Yeah," she said, "I do. It's nice to know I'm not alone. Hey, Alistra's obviously not in the mood to talk, so I'll head back down to the Citadel. Would you care to escort me?"

"Certainly," he said. Jaina slipped her arm through his.

"I was never truly lonely in Theramore," she confided. "Some of my staff came from my father's household. I knew everyone and even though I didn't have anyone  _significant,_ I was comfortable." They emerged from the depths of the fortress. Darion chose a gryphon. "Here I have duties and roles, and none of them are comfortable."

Darion swung onto the gryphon's back and held out his hand. "You're tough," he said with confidence, "you'll make yourself comfortable." Jaina let him pull her astride, settling snugly in front of him in the saddle, his arms around her as he took up the reins. They lifted off and Jaina settled back against Darion's chest.

"I could use some help," she whispered through the keening wind.

* * *

There was a knock on the door of Kel'Thuzad's laboratory. The lich gestured and the door swung open.

"Huh," said a voice he didn't recognize, "it was a lot harder getting to you in Naxxramas." He looked up to find his sanctuary breached by the Orc Death Knight, Kagra, and returned his attention to quill and paper.

"I'm assuming you came here without the support of twenty or thirty friends because Jaina sent you," replied Kel'Thuzad. Kagra remained in the doorway, making no attempt to hide her grip on her swords.

She snorted. "Lady Jaina just went upstairs hand in hand with Highlord Mograine. I doubt she'll be sending anyone for anything until noon tomorrow."

Kel'Thuzad's gaze snapped up. "She did what?"

The Orc chuckled. "Have fun with that. Anyway, I was guarding your dungeon pets and one of them told me to give you this." She held up a folded scrap of paper. "I probably shouldn't, but there's something about paladins that just makes me want to defy authority, so-" He teleported across the room, snatched the paper from her fingers, and dangled her in the air by her wrist while he read it. Kagra didn't bother struggling. "I'll be taking the rest of the night shift from good Sir Warwick in about ten minutes."

Kel'Thuzad dropped her; she landed softly, cat-like, and waited. He incinerated the note in a burst of blue flame. "Bring my reply to the man named Stavros and there'll be a reward in it for you."

"Sure," she said and waited, expecting him to compose a note in response.

"Tell him ' _yes_ '," said the lich and loomed over her menacingly. Kagra took the hint and headed for the door. She stopped just outside.

"What kind of reward?" she asked. Kel'Thuzad chuckled darkly.

"I'll keep your flexible loyalty to myself," he replied. The Orc growled under her breath and stalked off. Kel'Thuzad locked the door behind her and turned his attention to binding his mental shields around Jaina's mind for the time-being. Her dreams were distracting enough; he didn't want any part in her reality at the moment.

* * *

Jaina sat on the edge of her bed, forehead resting heavily on the heel of one hand.

_What did I just do_ , she thought for about the thousandth time in the past hour. It wasn't the sex that had been awkward; that part had been pleasantly enjoyable and surprisingly mundane. It was the moments afterward. Arthas used to fall asleep quickly, or if he were sufficiently energized, they would lie together and talk about meaningless things, just enjoying their time together. Darion didn't need to sleep, and on some level they both realized, tangled up in each other's arms and Jaina's black cloak because they never did quite make it to the bed, that they weren't doing this because they had some heartfelt connection: rather, they were both lonely and isolated and willing.

That made it awkward. Jaina had never slept with anyone except Arthas and thus her sexual memories were always tinged with love. She didn't love Darion. She barely  _knew_  Darion. He wasn't unattractive and he wasn't uncaring, but he wasn't warm or familiar or  _alive_  either. To her shock, it was that last which bothered her the least. He insisted on keeping his under tunic on the entire time so Jaina wouldn't see the ragged, crudely-stitched hole in his chest made when he plunged the corrupted Ashbringer through himself to save his father's soul. She could feel the wound beneath his shirt, under her fingertips and against her breasts and belly, and that was enough.

But he was a stranger to her, except in the moments of overwhelming pleasure where nothing mattered beyond physical sensation. And that made Jaina feel guilty. How did he perceive her? Was this a beginning to him, or was it a genial, casual encounter? If she could be sure that he had come with her for the same reasons she had encouraged him, then she would feel a sliver less guilty. But she hadn't the courage to ask, bare skin luminous with sweat, as the Ebon Hold commander traced her heaving ribs with chilly fingers. They'd spoken only in rough, broken sentences, and none of those had to do with past or future.

_What was I thinking?_  She wondered miserably.  _What if he thinks now that I harbour real feelings for him? He'll have every right to be confused and angry with me. I meant no deception..._  No, she'd only meant- well, that was the very worst of it. Loneliness and isolation were rationalizations, after-thoughts. Jaina had seduced Darion because she wanted Alistra to be furious with jealousy. She'd brought the man to her bed out of revenge.

_What did I just do?_ When Jaina had finally, laughingly, plead exhaustion, Darion had kissed her, carried her to bed, gathered his things, and made a graceful exit. For a minute, she'd avoided this inevitable examination by imagining him dressing hastily in the hallway, under the curious eyes of Dreilide and the omni-present cat. She hadn't even tried to sleep. She'd picked up her cloak off the floor, sniffing it warily and discovering only her own scent on the black fur. She'd put on her night-gown and slippers and sat at her desk, rolling and unrolling a variety of scrolls, none of which she could recall. Then she stared out the window for a long time, her mind a maelstrom equal to the churning blizzard outside.

And at last, she'd sat down to face her actions, feeling none of the confidence or pride she had hours before.  _What have I done?_

* * *

The storm was beginning to wane the following morning. The wind no longer screamed along the outer walls of the Citadel and the clouds showed signs of thinning. At midday, there was a tiny point of light visible at the zenith, not quite painful to look at directly, that several people swore was the sun.

Jaina arrived in the kitchen before then, expression unreadable. Most of the Citadel's occupants were now outside, braving the elements in anticipation of their coming freedom. Earthsinger was tending the stove, chatting idly with Kagra.

"Coffee?" said the shaman, oblivious to Jaina's preoccupied rumination.

"Hm? Oh, please. Yes," she replied, eyes focusing on the present for a moment. "Thank you." Kagra slid onto the bench beside her and twirled a dagger.

"So, I've been thinking," she said casually, "when Acherus goes back to the Plaguelands, I'd rather stay here."

"I'll have to negotiate it with D-darion," replied Jaina automatically, tripping over the Ebon Hold commander's name. "Highlord Mograine," she corrected. "I'll discuss it. Why do you wish to stay?"

"I like the weather," said Kagra, and thumped her chest with one fist. "Frostwolf Clan," she explained proudly. Jaina cracked a tiny smile and nodded. She spent the rest of the meal in silence, contemplating her coffee cup and its repeated refills as guests and visitors of the Citadel came and went around her.

"What's got her down?" murmured Earthsinger when Kagra approached the Tauren for another mug of coffee.

"You ever have a friend who was ambitious, talented, and enviablly whip-smart about mostly everything but painfully, embarrassingly stupid when it came to lovers?" asked Kagra. Earthsinger nodded.

"I think everybody knows someone like that."

"Not the Lady King," smirked the Orc.

"How do you know?"

"Well, if you don't know anybody like that, you probably  _are_  like that."

Earthsinger grunted, tipping hot coffee into the Orc's mug. "You mind your own business, Kagra Strangleheart," said the shaman, "And leave the girl to-"

A burly, black-haired paladin barged into the room, out of breath. "Lady Jaina, we need you at the dungeon, right now!" Jaina leapt to her feet at the urgency in his voice and sprinted out of the kitchen after the paladin.

"What's going on?"

"Kel'Thuzad!" he shot back.

"What? What's he done?"

But as they approached, Jaina's question was answered by a reverberating boom, followed by shouting. She and the paladin burst around the corner. Tirion Fordring and two of the Argent Dawn stood with their backs against the wall, across the hall from the open door of the dungeon, facing down Kel'Thuzad and the six Thuzadin. Jaina gasped.

All six of the elite Cultists were undead now.

"Kel'Thuzad!" she exclaimed, horrified. "What's going on? What did you do?" She stepped between the two groups and glanced into the dungeon. One hand flew up to cover her mouth. "What have you done!" she cried, staring into the make-shift cell. Inside, there were nineteen heaps of greasy, grey ash, each one roughly the shape of a fallen corpse. Jaina whirled, speechless.

"He teleported inside," said Tirion, teeth bared, Ashbringer drawn, "We didn't know." His voice shook with fury. "This is an  _inexcusable_  contravention of justice, Jaina! I want him punished for this." Jaina held up her hands between the lich and the paladin.

"Kel'Thuzad, what were you thinking? Why would you do this?"

"Fordring was going to have them executed," snarled the lich, "And you knew it!"

"No I didn't!" she retorted, just as Tirion sputtered, "I was  _not_!"

Kel'Thuzad drew back. "I was informed that you had reached an agreement yesterday: the Thuzadin would be allowed to live, but never to be raised into undeath. The others were to die in five days!"

Jaina clenched her fists. "I don't know who informed you, but they were lying," she said. "We agreed to no such thing." There was a moment of tension as the combatants wavered. Kel'Thuzad turned and stared briefly into the dungeon to his murdered faithful. "Go back to the lab and stay there," Jaina said before he could make another move. "Stavros, take the others into the other room. Do it now," she commanded. They obeyed wordlessly and Jaina turned to face Tirion.

"I don't know who lied to him," said the paladin, eyes blazing beneath furrowed brows, "and right now, I don't care. It was a mistake the keep him alive, Jaina. You can't control him and you can't trust him. Look what he's done." He shook a damning finger at the ash piles inside the cell. "He killed  _his own people_ , Jaina! This is how much he values life." He paused and ran a hand through his hair.

Jaina bit her lip. Kel'Thuzad had told her that the Cultists would view it as a privilege to die by his hand if the verdict came down against them. "Tirion, he warned me. I didn't realize-"

"No, because you, bless your soul, think the best of everyone. But as nice as that is, in this case it back-fired on you. You can't  _trust_  him, Jaina! What more need he do to prove that?"

"No!" argued Jaina, "I know exactly what Kel'Thuzad is and though I can't empathize with his motivation, or that of the Cult, I understand them. As I was saying, I didn't realize someone had spoken to him, or I would have stopped him." She shook her head. "There aren't many who knew what we agreed upon today," she said, "Yourself, Sir Warwick, myself, the Cult, or one of the guards. I was otherwise indisposed," she explained delicately.

"Warwick and I were in the Oratory."

"As far as I know, the Cult has no way of communicating with Kel'Thuzad directly."

"It seems someone on one of the shifts brought him the news, then."

"Those shifts were covered by your paladins or Darion's Death Knights," said Jaina, a sinking feeling developing in her stomach.

"Who are you accusing? Why would any of them- dammit," Tirion sighed. "Incite Kel'Thuzad to do  _this_  and hopefully the repercussions would destroy him."

"We don't have any shortage of suspects," said Jaina, "Who was on the guard shift last night?"

"Sir Warwick, Sir Ariel, Sir Theo, and the Death Knight, Kagra Strangleheart," said one of the two paladins with Tirion.

"I'll deal with the paladins and pass Kagra's questioning to Darion," said Tirion. "Jaina, if nothing else, this incident has proven that no matter how understanding your relationship with Kel'Thuzad, he clearly disregards your decisions. I wish you would find a different teacher and allow us to properly incarcerate him."

"He's my problem," said Jaina firmly, and set out for the lich's laboratory.


	15. Truth, Honour & Loyalty

Kel'Thuzad made no attempt to deny his actions when Jaina stormed into his lab, fuming. "I told you," he said, hovering between stubborn pride and abject apology, "what I would do if Fordring found the Cult guilty. Death by my hand is an honour. You could have ordered me to take no action when I explained that, but you didn't."

"Do not make this my fault!" Jaina hissed, and closed the lab door more firmly than necessary, "You acted without my authorization and undermined my authority!"

"Fordring's authority! I thought he had-"

"No, my authority!" she interrupted, slashing the air with one hand, "I agreed to the terms of the trial and I did my best to defend the Cultists! We were set to discuss their fate this morning. What were you thinking?" she said. There was disappointment in her voice.

"They were my people," he argued, backing up as she strode towards him, "It was my choice what happened to them, not the paladin's."

"No, it wasn't your choice! It was mine, Kel'Thuzad. I needed to choose, to prove that I could make a decision that was fair both to my constituents and to the people your Cult wronged. Now, Tirion has every reason to distrust my word since you're apparently free to contradict it! He wants you locked up and Light help you if he ever figures out where your phylactery is." She threw up her hands, exasperated, and turned her back on the lich. "Who gave you the false information?"

"Strangleheart," he replied without pause.

"Kagra?" Jaina whirled, surprised. "Why does she want you dead?"

"I infer that she sought to revenge her death in Naxxramas."

Jaina hesitated and the lich caught a flicker of confusion from her. Perhaps she had suspected someone else, someone who wasn't Kagra, or perhaps she simply didn't believe anyone would go to such lengths for vengeance. "Why didn't you wait and consult me before acting?" she said heavily, shoulders sagging.

"You were unavailable." Kel'Thuzad folded his hands before him in contrition. "My King, it was not my intention to cause you strife. I acted on bad information. Whatever punishment you deem fit, I will accept."

Jaina sighed and ran her fingers through a stray lock of hair. "You're confined to the lab until Tirion and Darion are gone, for your safety as much as anyone else's. From now on, any of your actions that may influence non-Scourge individuals or their perception of my authority are to be discussed with me before being performed, regardless of the circumstances. Are we clear?"

Kel'Thuzad nodded once. "You have my word," he promised. Jaina took a deep breath and let it out slowly, relieved. "May I kill her?" he asked. Jaina's breath hitched.

"No, you may not to kill Kagra!"

"She deceived me," he argued, "She caused me to damage your reputation, and mine."

"And that merits death? No." Kel'Thuzad grumbled to himself. He hadn't expected her to approve, but pride forced him to ask.

"You don't think it was Kagra's idea," he observed.

Jaina hesitated. "Well, I- I don't know, but she- I don't know. I thought Lady Alistra was behind it. She tried to subvert the inquest yesterday, but Kagra doesn't seem the type to take orders from someone she doesn't respect and so far as I've seen, that list doesn't include Alistra."

"I agree," said Kel'Thuzad, "Kagra was part of Mograine's assassination squad; it seems that she answers directly to him."

Jaina's eyes widened. "You think Darion- ?" she gasped, teetering between offense and horror.

Kel'Thuzad tapped his teeth thoughtfully. "He tried to kill me once before. It seems logical that he would try again, and though my own experience leads me to believe he would use more direct methods, he did send the Death Knights after you initially."

There was no hiding the fury that blossomed, white hot, in a sudden flush across her cheeks, no matter how she struggled to keep her composure. Fierce emotion burned through the link between the lich and his King: anger, shame, betrayal, sorrow, all of it directed at Mograine.

"Jaina," said Kel'Thuzad as she struggled to articulate her wrath into something that wasn't primarily cuss words, "Kagra came to me. If you want to take responsibility for my actions, let Mograine take responsibility for hers and Alistra's. That's two strikes against him, politically speaking, which puts you ahead, if you're keeping score."

"Oh, I am now," she fumed, "If he ordered Kagra to- while he was with me-" Then she took a deep breath and closed her eyes. After a moment she sat down primly on the edge of a bare table and rested her forehead in her palm. "I may have jeopardized my political relationship with Darion."

"By sleeping with him?"

Her chin jerked up and the blush spread across the bridge of her nose, high-lighting a soft smattering of freckles. "It was unprofessional and selfish."

"Perhaps, but it hasn't stopped legions of rulers before you." It never stopped Arthas. "One night of poor judgment isn't going to ruin your career. Politicians have been conducting their diplomatic relations in the bedroom for centuries."

"Well, it's not how I conduct diplomatic relations!" she said indignantly. "N- nor is it how I ever intended to conduct myself romantically." She turned away, one hand buried in her hair, hiding her expression in profile. Kel'Thuzad made no immediate reply. It was not his business who his King bedded, or why, so he kept his opinions to himself. Wasn't it the prerogative of nobles to tryst with whomever they pleased? Certainly there would be whispers, but in the end who would judge Jaina for a night of human passion? Kel'Thuzad could picture Highlord Fordring's frown, and swift forgiveness. The paladin was far more concerned with Jaina's position as leader of the Scourge than he was with a night in the arms of the Ebon Hold commander. After all, the Highlord trusted Darion Mograine. The other Alliance leaders likely shared similar interests in Jaina's reign, and the Horde races generally celebrated romantic conquest like any other sort of conquest, if they cared at all.

Surely Jaina had evaluated these reactions already and arrived at similar conclusions. Who's opinion was she so concerned about? Ah, relations! She has a brother. That must be it.

"Speaking from experience," he began, "your brother isn't going to think less of you for one romantic mishap."

Jaina sat up and regarded him quizzically. "Tandred?" she said. "No, of course he won't. Goodness knows I have years of black-mail material on him," she said with a tiny flicker of a smile. It disappeared, then returned tentatively. "Speaking from what experience? Certainly your sister never slept with a... a Death Knight." The blush was back. It isn't because it's Mograine, then, he finally realized, it's because Mograine is undead.

"Would that she had access to a mate of such quality," quipped the lich, "No, there was only one family within a week's ride of ours. Their elder son was... well. Suffice to say I've seen abominations more intelligent. But he was attractive and he made her happy." Kel'Thuzad shrugged. "I couldn't tolerate the man, but that was between him and myself."

Jaina relaxed visibly. "Thank you," she said, then slid decisively off the table, brushed her hands down her skirts and looked up. "Since I'm here anyway, Imuruk mentioned you were working on a paper, a catalogue of observations you made during my recovery. May I read it?" Slightly mystified by what had just transpired, he turned and glanced at his desk.

"It's still a rough draft," said Kel'Thuzad apprehensively, and made a mental note to impress upon the shaman his fondness for privacy the next time they met. "Most of it is still un-editted or in point form." She waved a hand dismissively.

"No matter. I'm curious about your discoveries."

Kel'Thuzad sorted through tidy mountains of paper, peering at his own hand-writing as though perplexed. Jaina waited patiently. Finally, when he could stall no more, he extracted a sheaf of detached notebook leaves from the careful stacks and carried it to her. "There are pages of raw data and calculations still to analyze," he warned, but it didn't put her off.

Jaina pushed an escaped tendril of hair behind her ear and began to read. "No abstract? I always liked to write it first."

"First?" said Kel'Thuzad, scandalized. "Never. Not until the results are fully integrated with accepted knowledge."

"Surely you have a vague idea about the significance of your research once you finish compiling data and studying similar literature."

"Vague isn't good enough," he said emphatically. Jaina raised her eyebrows.

"I think I know which anonymous arch-magus marked my final paper in Advanced Conjuration."

Kel'Thuzad remembered. "You wrote on the ethics of selling conjured items," he said. He had thought it an ambitious topic for a third-year student, but found her work well-researched if rather chaotically presented. "You had some difficulty with useless adjectives." Jaina looked up from his paper and pouted.

"I was sixteen and it was the first time I had been tasked to follow professional formatting." The lich masked his amusement at her indignance and moved off to distract himself while she read. It was hard to watch someone's instantaneous reactions to his work and Jaina's face was guilelessly expressive. So while she continued, engrossed, he paged through another document and after several minutes, the fiasco in the dungeon and in Jaina's bedroom slipped to the back of his mind. Apparently, Jaina felt similarly.

"This is extremely detailed," she said when she was half-way through the manuscript, "How do you know so much about paladin healing?"

"Courtesy of good Sir Zeliek," replied Kel'Thuzad, "Such a fascinating, obstinate man. I liked to bring him things to heal to test the extent of his abilities." She flinched visibly. The unfortunate paladin had been captured early in the war, killed and raised, then put into training as a Death Knight in Naxxramas. To Kel'Thuzad's profound astonishment, Zeliek couldn't master the dark magic used by other Death Knights. Instead, he remained a paladin, tied to the Light by a stubborn shred of faith, though undead and driven by Kel'Thuzad's will to slay the living when they invaded the necropolis. If there was someone in Azeroth's history who hated Kel'Thuzad more than Darion Mograine did, it was Sir Zeliek.

"Whatever became of him?" asked Jaina.

"He died when Naxxramas crashed." Kel'Thuzad didn't feel it was necessary to elaborate that Zeliek had actually been under Naxxramas when it came down.

The answer seemed to comfort her, and she returned her attention to his research. "Your findings are... revolutionary," she said after another few minutes. "But this information is nothing more than a unique case study unless it can be adapted to serve a broader purpose."

Kel'Thuzad flicked his fingers toward the lower half of the stack. "Keep reading. I extrapolated several basic necromantic uses. With further study and experimentation, who knows what we can learn."

"Study and experimentation?" she said, suddenly wary. "Speaking as the potential subject, what are you proposing?"

"Whatever you deem safe and comfortable," he assured her, "If for no other reason than your own safety, I believe we should thoroughly test and define your capabilities. Both what you can do, and what you can... withstand."

"I agree," she said reluctantly, fingering the torn edges of the pages thoughtfully, "though I can't say I'm looking forward to it." Jaina read through the data, scanning Kel'Thuzad's signature margin-notes. She found a piece of scrap paper and he saw her making some calculations of her own with a pencil stub, brows furrowed in concentration. "Even as a case study, this is fascinating and you've just scratched the surface," she said, enthusiasm growing. "Where exactly are you planning to submit this for publication?"

"Submit?" he said innocently. "Why, I never thought about publishing. What a splendid idea, my King!" Imuruk, he growled to himself, needs a lesson in discretion.

"No," she said, suddenly smiling, "I'm serious."

Kel'Thuzad eyed her guardedly. He wasn't interested in being scolded a second time in one day, nor was he going to give up on presenting his findings in the proper publications. "Are you sure?"

"Where do you plan to submit it?" she asked again, "Because this is important, Kel'Thuzad. You've described a way in which necromantic power can heal living flesh. It's a new use of necromancy, almost an entirely new discipline of magic! The arcane community needs to have this knowledge."

Kel'Thuzad leaned back, startled by her energetic response. "You agree with me?"

"On this? Absolutely."

"I intended to submit it to the Dalaran Journal of Thaumatechnology under the name of Kazimir Frostblood," said the lich hesitantly, still disbelieving.

"An unknown, unaccredited name, but you have meticulous references..." she flipped through several pages of citations. "And your research is sound, if not easily replicable. I would very much like to read it again before you send it off. I barely understand what I can do with the Lich King's power, and judging from this, I think the magic itself struggles to operate safely within me. But I am learning, thanks to you, and it is adapting." She handed back the manuscript and rose. "It's brilliant."

Kel'Thuzad bowed, stunned. "Thank you, my King," he said reverently.

"All right, I'm going to question Darion about Kagra's motives," she said resolutely, "And if he is responsible for her actions, Light help him."

"Oh I do hope he's responsible..." murmured Kel'Thuzad maliciously, still shocked by Jaina's agreement.

She tried to hide a smirk as she slipped out the door.

Being confined to the lab proved excruciating for Kel'Thuzad. He would obey Jaina's orders faithfully, but she had only forbidden him to kill Kagra, not question the Death Knight on his own terms. Jaina had also not specified that he couldn't use his own telepathic will to call the Scourge and so several minutes after his King left to interrogate Mograine, a geist scratched at the laboratory door. Eight or nine of it's fellows milled restlessly behind it. He beckoned the leader inside. No ghoul would be quick or stealthy enough to locate the ex-rogue if she didn't want to be found, and Kel'Thuzad guessed that she probably wouldn't at the moment.

"Find the Orc Death Knight named Kagra Strangleheart," ordered Kel'Thuzad, "And give her this." He held out a tiny package, a metal token wrapped in wax paper. The ghoul snatched it up curiously, opening the edge of the paper. Kel'Thuzad grabbed it's hand. "No. For the Death Knight. Go, give it to her." The geists galloped off, eager to complete their task, and Kel'Thuzad settled back to wait.

He passed the time studying the Helm. For the first several days after Jaina had handed it over to him, all he had done was stare at the armour. He was hesitant to touch it. This piece of metal and magic contained the one last tattered, abused scrap of his soul, lost in the labyrinthine weaves that magnified the might of the Lich King. He briefly acknowledged an irrational, too-human fear that touching the Helm might somehow damage or dislodge his soul, though he knew from studying the true lichdom rituals that it was perfectly safe to handle one's own phylactery.

To normal sight, the Helm was nothing more than an elaborate metal sculpture. It was heavy and forbidding and darkly iconic in appearance. Under magical inspection, it was a dizzying maze of spells, so complex and dense they appeared completely solid, visibly similar to the way Kel'Thuzad's own physical body was constructed. The parallel wasn't likely a coincidence.

When Kel'Thuzad finally worked up the courage to touch it, to take it in his hands and bring it close to his empty chest, he felt a sort of pull, not terribly insistent, from the soft glowing weaves to himself. I'm part of it. Or, it's part of me. Both are true. I wonder... if I can put myself back together...? That was wicked thinking, almost blasphemous, probably dangerous. But I know it is possible to create a new phylactery and transfer one's soul to it, so perhaps it is not impossible to pull it out of the Helm. It would require a thorough understanding of the entire spell, however, and judging from the intricacy of it, that understanding would require years to achieve. Nevertheless, Kel'Thuzad had decided to map out the weaves and learn what he could from them, both about the Helm and about himself. It had taken five full days to find a starting point, so tightly made were the enchantments.

When Kagra appeared abruptly in a pungent-smelling flash of purple lightning, Kel'Thuzad was holding the Helm in both hands, hovering motionless in contemplation. He turned at the sound of her arrival.

"Who do you work for?" he asked without introduction. Kagra's gaze fell on the Helm and her eyes narrowed.

"Darion Mograine. You know that." She looked around. "How the hell did you do that? Critter gave me some little present, I open it up and poof I'm here."

Kel'Thuzad gestured and paralyzed the Death Knight from the chin down. "Did Darion Mograine order you to give me false information?" Kagra set her jaw and didn't respond. Kel'Thuzad placed the Helm on the table and approached his captive, hands folded behind his back. "I'm going to assume you have some idea what I will do to you if you don't talk, so tell me: are you working for Mograine?"

The Orc grunted. "Lady Jaina know what you're doing in here?"

"Oh, no," he rasped, leaning down as he prowled around her, "We've got hours til she comes back and absolutely no one knows where you are."

"Torture me all you want," she said, feigning boredom, "I won't answer your questions. I'll probably lie a lot, though."

Kel'Thuzad chuckled mirthlessly. "You may be a Knight of the Ebon Blade, but you're still undead, and no match for me. I don't need to torture you." He clapped a hand over her face, claws biting into her skin and power bloomed between his skeletal fingers. Her pupils dilated and her jaw sagged open. "All right," said the lich calmly, "Who ordered you to tell me the Cultists were slated for execution?"

"No one ordered me," she said in a stilted, hollow voice.

"Why did you give me false information?"

"I expected you to kill the Cultists. I wanted to eliminate your army."

"Why?"

"To pro- protect- protect-" the Orc shuddered and seized suddenly under his talons despite his paralytic spell, grimacing, fighting his mental domination with all her will, "-protect- rrrr! L-lady Jaina!" She managed to spit at him despite the compulsion Kel'Thuzad had placed on her. He cocked his head, puzzled by her answer.

"Didn't you try to kill Lady Jaina just a few months ago?"

"N-no," she said, struggling, "I am here to- here to protect Lady Jaina."

"Explain," he hissed. She ground her teeth, lips flaring over thick fangs, resisting his coercion with impressive strength. Kel'Thuzad purposefully dug his talons deeper into her scalp.

"You can't make me-" she snarled, "My people drank the blood of demons and freed themselves from it's control! Your spell is nothing-!"

Kel'Thuzad clicked his teeth. "Grom Hellscream freed your people before you could walk, child, and it cost him his life. Now explain who ordered you to protect Jaina and how you ended up trying to kill her."

Kagra twisted her shoulders, trying to wrench her head out of his grasp, but the spells and his grip were too effective. "I wasn't trying to kill her. I learned of- learned of- Mograine's intent and- rrrgh! I made sure to be- to be chosen for the mission."

"Your resistance is admirable, but boring. Who sent you to protect Jaina?"

She purposefully bit through her tongue, gnashing her sharp teeth and shredding the muscle before Kel'Thuzad could stop her. Cold, viscous blood dripped sluggishly down her chin and the Orc grinned up at him triumphantly. In exasperation, the lich struck her across the face with the back of his hand.

"You fool!" he seethed, "We're on the same side! You think I would harm Jaina? Are you mad? My loyalty is legendary!" He seized her bloody jaw in both hands, a searing blue-white light pouring forth from his palms. "And you're still a Death Knight." Kel'Thuzad flooded her wounds with raw energy, winding the magic into flat weaves, knitting her dead flesh anew.

"Damn you, you son of a bitch!" she spat as her injuries healed under his guidance.

"Don't be rude. My mother was a saint." He moved back from her and glared down. "Now, tell me who you're really working for, if it isn't Mograine." Kagra bared her teeth, more out of habit than with any real ferocity, and Kel'Thuzad knew he had her.

"I didn't- make that don't - know how far I can trust you," she snapped, "but if you truly have Lady Jaina's best interests at heart, you'll let me wait and speak to you both simultaneously. I was charged to reveal my true mission only to the Lady King." Kel'Thuzad ground his teeth in annoyance.

"Jaina should return in four or five hours for her daily lesson. Until then, you aren't going anywhere," said the lich. He returned to the table holding the Helm. Kagra frowned.

"Care to let me out of this stupid purple light-snare thing?"

"No."

"I promise not to touch anything."

"No."

"Will you at least remove the paralysis?"

"No."

"I wasn't insulting your mother, I was insulting you!" Kel'Thuzad made another off-hand gesture and Kagra's jaws clamped shut of their own volition. Without any further acknowledgment, he turned his back on her and flipped open a notebook beside the Helm.

Four hours passed, with Kel'Thuzad peacefully tracing out the intricate spellwork that composed the Helm into his notebook. He looked over his shoulder occasionally to check on Kagra, who fought the spell enough each time to snarl or stick her tongue out. Finally, the door opened and Jaina stalked in, looking tired and frustrated. She stopped abruptly upon seeing Kagra suspended in vague rings of violet light.

"Kel'Thuzad," she said, pointing to the paralyzed Orc with a raised eyebrow. "Care to explain?"

"Oh, this is quite interesting. She says she was sent here to protect you, but refused to tell me who your mysterious benefactor is. How did it go with Mograine?"

Jaina glanced from him to the Orc, eyebrows furrowing at the dried blood on Kagra's chin. "Darion said he didn't set her up to do anything, other than the original, uh, cautionary measures. He looked genuinely confused; I don't think he's involved." She turned to Kagra. "You were sent here to protect me? How were you planning to do that while you were charged with assassinating me?" Kel'Thuzad snapped his fingers and freed the Orc from his spells.

"My Lady," Kagra said crisply, "I am here on behalf of SI:7."

Kel'Thuzad traded a surprised glance with Jaina. "The Stormwind rogue's organization?" she said. Kagra nodded. A network of assassins and spies could be invaluable allies, or dangerous enemies. Or a bit of both...

"I'm honoured that SI:7 finds me worthy of their attention," said Jaina carefully, apparently sharing Kel'Thuzad's assessment. "To whom do you report?" The Death Knight stood rigidly at attention.

"I have been contracted by Lady Samina Sugarhill, an agent of considerable privilege, who wishes for your reign to be safe and successful. I am to assist and protect you, and to gather information on my employer's behalf, so that she may better aid you in whatever manner you require," Kagra recited. "My orders are to bring you to Lady Sugarhill in Stormwind now that my mission has been revealed. She wishes to meet you in person."

Jaina looked perplexed. "I'm not familiar with your Lady's bloodline."

"I don't know much about Stormwind nobility, Lady Jaina," admitted Kagra, "but she's got the money and the manners."

"You're not SI:7 yourself," realized Kel'Thuzad, "You're just a mercenary." Kagra looked like she wanted to make a snide reply, but contained herself in Jaina's presence.

"This mystery woman chose well," said Jaina thoughtfully, "An ex-Rogue Death Knight willing to sell her sword and skilled enough to insert herself where she would have constant access to me... Yes, I'm very interested in meeting Lady Sugarhill. Excuse me a moment. I must consult my calendar."

Jaina left Kel'Thuzad eying Kagra shrewdly. "I believe I understand your nasty little ruse with the Cult, now. You were part of the Scourge long enough to know what I would do if Fordring threatened them, and if I were honourable at all, I would keep my oath to slay them. Trying to find the limits of my integrity. Interesting."

"That and I really wanted to see Fordring's face when you broke into the jail. Paladins. Ugh."

"You cost me nineteen of my best acolytes," he said icily.

Kagra snorted. "As if there aren't twice as many out there waiting to jump in and replace them."

"You also caused me to displease Lady Jaina and indirectly cast doubt on her ability to rule effectively."

"It's a little disturbing how much you care about her, you know? Yet you're completely willing to let her go off alone to Stormwind to meet some unknown person who may well have hired me to assassinate her."

Kel'Thuzad chuckled drily. "My King is quite capable of protecting herself without my assistance."

"Feh. I think you over-estimate what Lady Jaina can do."

The lich decided not to respond. Kagra wasn't just making annoying banter; she was baiting him, snagging tidbits of information with each exchange. She's much more clever than she appears. And she knows it. Arrogance was a trait Kel'Thuzad found wholly unbecoming in anyone, but especially in those who either had little reason to be cocky, or those who were fully aware of their superior skills. It made the former pathetic and the latter needlessly tedious. Kagra fell somewhere in between, but it was slowly becoming clear that it was intentional. She effected a grating personality and spoke with a careless lack of tact to draw others to the edge of good reason, where it was easier to acquire information with their ire raised.

"Or perhaps you're waiting for the chance to rush to her rescue again, eh?" the Death Knight suggested. Very well, Orc. Two can play at this game.

"I'm sure such action would be unneccessary. After all, she has you, charged with her welfare, and you have been so indispensably effective thus far."

"Well, it has been a little boring, you doing my job for me and all."

"You make a good point. Perhaps I should have our Lady mention this to your employer so her funds can be more properly distributed." Kagra's left eye twitched. Aha. Mercenary to the bone. "My own rather considerable personal wealth is sadly out of my reach at the moment and eternal servitude has proven to be an unpaid occupation."

"You know, our current interests aren't so different," Kagra began, sidling between two of the long trestle tables toward him, idly examining her fingernails. Kel'Thuzad didn't move, but folded his arms over his chest obstinately. It was a calculated motion. He was quite aware of how emotionally unreadable his skeletal appearance made him and equally aware that someone like Kagra was adept at interpreting body language. She would see what he wanted her to see.

"You don't trust me because I wasn't honest with Lady Jaina from the start, or you don't trust me because I'm an Ebon Hold knight? If it's the first, you're a bloody hypocrite."

Actually, he thought, I just don't want you anywhere near the Helm, but that will do. "You betrayed one King, then sold your service to someone besides your commander. You've given me no reason to trust you."

"Don't trust your own brain-picking spell, then? Seemed to me like I had no choice but to be honest while you had that on me."

Jaina chose to return at that moment. "Kagra," she asked, "you may inform Lady Sugarhill that I can meet with her two weeks from now. I have Acherus to attend to tomorrow, a formal interview at the Taunka village three days after that, the Citadel is still being repaired and the crews need my input, and Overlord Saurfang has issued an invitation to dinner next week. I'm sure she'll understand."

Kagra bowed. "Yes, my Lady. I'll convey your reply with all haste." She marched for the door when Jaina dismissed her, pausing to shoot Kel'Thuzad a triumphant smirk, though whether it was for learning Jaina's schedule for the next fortnight, or for escaping his clutches, he wasn't sure.

"She's one to watch out for," muttered Jaina, crossing the room to join Kel'Thuzad at the front table. "And I've never heard of any family called Sugarhill. What did you learn of Kagra in my absence?"

"She likes money. It's probably her only real motivation."

"That reminds me. I've been meaning to find an accountant," she said as she took her usual seat, fishing her notebooks from the satchel hung on her chair, "The Scourge has no appreciable income, Northrend's economy is fractious and unpredictable, and my personal accounts will be quickly exhausted putting the Citadel back together."

"I still have a comfortable sum secured in Dalaran, if that would help."

Jaina raised an eyebrow, but asked no questions. "Thank you, it may. All right, let's get started."

Over the next two weeks, Kel'Thuzad came to a flattering realization: no matter how heatedly they might debate and argue during Jaina's hours in his laboratory, she had come to view the place as a sanctuary. He had no expectations of her beyond those any teacher would have for an apt and willing student. There was no web of political intrigue to navigate, no cause for mistrust, and no awkward emotional quagmire. Here, she could relax. More than once, the hours she spared for her necromantic study consisted of nothing more than silence, in which she would read and he would continue his documentation of the Helm, painstakingly unraveling it's workings.

For Kel'Thuzad's part, the lab quickly became claustrophobic. It was not small and came remarkably well-equipped, but it was only one room and it was now his entire territory. Jaina's lessons were the highlight of every day. He frequently found himself in frank conversation with her, discussing things that had no connection to necromancy, simply for the chance to do something other than work. She must have noticed the effect of his captivity, for when Tirion Fordring finally broke camp, only a week after Acherus had been successfully moved back to the Plaguelands, Jaina was at Kel'Thuzad's door almost immediately.

"You're free to range about the Citadel," she said, and stood back, gesturing towards the hallway and blessed freedom. Kel'Thuzad paused as he moved past her, gently clasped her face between his hands, and briefly touched his teeth to the crown of her head. "Oh, don't be dramatic. It was only a week." She followed him up the stairs and into the Oratory.

"Yes, but you sleep. I don't, so it felt twice as long."

Jaina rolled her eyes.

"You talked Mograine into letting you keep the stonemason," he nodded to Starkweather, who was leaning on a pick-axe at the edge of the Nerubian's tunnel, chatting with one of their guards, "He's an artisan, Kagra's a spy. I wonder what the other one actually was?"

"A Death Knight," said Jaina respectfully.

She sent him off to take up training and drilling the magical troops as he had done before the Vrykul invasion. His duties expanded from there. Jaina quickly allowed him to take over the same roles he had played as Kazimir Frostblood, and by the time she was preparing to leave for Stormwind and her meeting with the cryptic Samina Sugarhill, Kel'Thuzad was firmly ensconced as the right hand of the Scourge once again. The only person who seemed unsettled by this advancement was Kagra. She avoided Kel'Thuzad as best she could.

"There's no record of any family named Sugarhill," the lich informed Jaina, keeping pace beside his King as she left the kitchen, "Recently, historically, mythologically... I've tried translating the other Alliance race's surnames into Common. Nothing! Whoever your benefactor is, they're using an assumed name."

"Look at it from their perspective," Jaina countered, "What if I'm not as approachable as Sugarhill hopes? What if I was insulted by the offer of protection, or looking for a source of information inside SI:7? I don't begrudge this person their deception." She shook her head. "Still, it does make me cautious." She paused as Talsen approached her, holding a blue woolen cloak in one hand and her formal Dalaran colours in the other. She pursed her lips, then chose the blue and swung it about her shoulders.

"If your meeting is amicable, see if you can't borrow one of their master poison-makers. Not for anything unsavoury," he added quickly, "Poisoners have extensive knowledge of the chemical processes in the human body. I could use their expertise for my research."

"I'll ask," she replied, and drew a glittering portal in the air before her.

"Be safe," he said sincerely.

"Be good," she replied with a smile, and disappeared through the gateway.

Kel'Thuzad saw to his regular duties for the rest of the day. Now and then he would consult the link between himself and his King, curious about her progress. It was not only for SI:7 that Jaina was making this journey, he knew. The New Scourge was on shaky financial ground, and Jaina was seeking a competent adviser. The Bank of Stormwind was her first stop that afternoon. There was some interest in her appearance from bank patrons, but the staff were impeccably professional.

Kagra had arranged the meeting with Lady Sugarhill to be held that evening, in a reserved room at the city's most lavish inn, called the Gilded Rose. It was a beautiful place. Built of rich, butter-coloured granite glowing with flecks of mica, offset with elegant furnishings and polished dark wood, it was a heartening change from the limited black, white, and grey palette of Northrend. Jaina was acquainted with the establishment only through reputation, and had taken a suite down the hall from her contact to familiarize herself with the staff and building, in case she needed to make a quick exit.

The days were growing longer in the north, but night still came earlier at the Citadel than it would in Stormwind. Kel'Thuzad prowled alone along an upper rampart, watching the dark shudders of movement on the balconies below him as geists and wraiths and ghouls conducted their patrols. One of the Val'Kyr that had chosen to ally herself with Jaina soared past at eye level, utterly silent on wings of smoldering energy.

He paused on a ledge high above the grand entrance to the Citadel, staring south. To his left, a faint haze of light marked the location of Dalaran. I wonder what they did with the things I left behind. He wouldn't mind re-acquiring some of the equipment he had been forced to leave when Antonidas banished him. Perhaps Jaina could find out for him...

"K- argh! Kel- oh, stop it you! Kel'Thuzad!" The lich turned to find Imuruk lurching toward him, something dark and struggling caged precariously in his arms.

"Is that Jaina's pet?" Imuruk dumped the plague hound on the ground, panting, one hand on the animal's short, dirty mane to prevent it from fleeing.

"He's hurt. I've no idea how to heal him, so-" Dreilide yanked himself free of Imuruk's claws, bounded forward and reared up, planting his forepaws against Kel'Thuzad's kilt. On anyone else, the beast would have found a solid physical body to brace against, but the lich's dress was merely a curtain to lessen the disconcerting absence of lower limbs. Dreilide fell forward, landing in a confused heap underneath Kel'Thuzad. He reached down and pinned the animal across the shoulders.

"He looks like he cut himself on something," pointed Imuruk. Kel'Thuzad rolled Dreilide roughly onto his side, holding him still while Imuruk moved in to peer at the sticky black mess oozing through his fur from a gash at the base of his throat. The plague hound growled and jerked vigorously against Kel'Thuzad's hands.

"Clumsy beast," grumbled the lich. "What do you want me to do?"

"Well, fix him up. Lady Jaina would be upset if anything happened to him and my skills are no use with the undead."

"All right," he grumbled, "Hold on to him." Imuruk obediently settled two feet and most of his weight on the animal. Kel'Thuzad hovered one hand over the wound. "There's something inside," he said in surprise, "A piece of whatever he caught himself on, perhaps."

"Can you remove it?"

Kel'Thuzad pushed the tip of his thumb and forefinger into the wound. Dreilide yelped and twisted his head, jaws snapping shut on the lich's vambrace for an instant until Imuruk prized him off. Kel'Thuzad ignored the attack and fished the bit of metal out of the plague hound's muscle.

"This is a piece of a blade," he said.

"Someone stabbed him?" gasped Imuruk. He looked down at the growling animal, sympathy suffusing his voice. "You poor beast! Who would want to stab you?"

"Perhaps someone that it bit," suggested Kel'Thuzad. He closed the wound, melting the dead flesh to itself, and checked Dreilide over, finding nothing more. Imuruk picked up the shard of metal and turned it over curiously.

"I don't see how this could have broken off inside the wound," he said. "It's a chip from the middle of a blade, not from the tip. Wouldn't it be more likely for the tip to break if someone stabbed him?" Kel'Thuzad released Dreilide and leaned over Imuruk's shoulder. The plague hound trotted several steps away, growling, then sat down and began to lick the fresh scar on his chest.

"Let me see that." Kel'Thuzad turned the shard this way and that. It was thick and dull, pitted from use and weather, but still strong. An aura of immense magical influence emanated from it and he had a sudden and powerful surge of recognition.

"Do you see what I mean?" Imuruk continued, craning up to trace the edge of the shard. "It looks like it was broken before it was used to stab the plague hound. Perhaps the animal attacked someone and they grabbed the closest thing to hand to defend themselves."

"No," murmured Kel'Thuzad, holding the shard delicately between the tips of his claws. "This is a piece of Frostmourne. Tirion Fordring supposedly collected them all after the sword shattered, but..."

"I guess he missed one," said Imuruk, wide-eyed.

"I find that hard to believe."

"Must you be so suspicious? Highlord Fordring left a week ago. Presumably the pieces of Frostmourne went with him. Perhaps he lost one. Are you sure that's what this is?"

"Yes," hissed the lich, glaring down at his companion, "I would know this sword anywhere, in any form."

"All right," agreed Imuruk, holding up two hands in submission. "Then what was this piece doing in the plague hound? The creature was fine yesterday morning when I met Lady Jaina after breakfast."

"He was nosing around in my lab earlier today without apparent injury," pondered Kel'Thuzad, tapping his teeth with one claw, "However he became impaled, it happened in the last few hours, and the pieces of Frostmourne shouldn't be anywhere near the Citadel, so someone had to bring one here and somehow, Dreilide was stabbed with it."

"Suppose," said Imuruk worriedly, "someone stole the shard and intended to assassinate Lady Jaina with it. Before they could reach her, perhaps the animal sensed their motive and attacked them, in her defense. Maybe we should be looking for a corpse or an injured person." It seemed like a logical place to start.

"You look for the injured; I'll look for the corpse," said Kel'Thuzad quickly. A corpse wasn't difficult to find in the Citadel, but a fresh one would stand out. As Kel'Thuzad swept his necromantic magic through the halls and ramparts, Imuruk sat back on his haunches, eyes closed. He spoke softly, in Nerubian, a ceaseless string of purrs and pops that Kel'Thuzad couldn't translate but that something formless and invisible took a great deal of interest in.

Several minutes passed, during which Dreilide deemed his wound sufficiently tended and went to investigate what the two men were up to. Imuruk fed him sometimes when Jaina wasn't looking, so the plague hound visited the shaman first, tail wagging. He received no response. Discouraged, he approached Kel'Thuzad. The lich never directly fed Dreilide, but once or twice the plague hound had managed to steal morsels he set out for his cat. A dim red light flared in one of the lich's eyesockets, the equivalent of him opening an eye, and Dreilide had second thoughts.

"Nothing," announced Imuruk, coming out of his meditative trance. Kel'Thuzad shook his head as well. "So perhaps the hound attempted to attack an intruder, who then stabbed him and before he could retaliate, they escaped," the shaman posited. Kel'Thuzad wasn't convinced.

"Why steal a piece of Frostmourne in the first place? Assuming it was stolen, and not given freely. If someone went to all that trouble, why would they just flee and leave it behind?" He straightened up. "Unless they meant to..."

"I'm afraid I don't follow."

"Frostmourne turned Arthas into an undead Death Knight," Kel'Thuzad explained rapidly. "He carried it with him constantly and it slowly stole his soul. That dog follows Jaina everywhere. If someone wanted her to meet the same fate as Arthas, putting the shard inside Dreilide would ensure it was constantly nearby and unnoticed."

Imuruk cocked his head. "That seems overly complicated and not necessarily guaranteed to work."

"I didn't say it was a good idea," replied the lich "and I share your skepticism, but perhaps someone thought it was." The shaman nodded.

"That I can believe. So, how did someone acquire the shard?"

"I'm less interested in the how," rasped Kel'Thuzad, "and more interested in the who."

Jaina remained in her room until sunset. She spent her time reading the short list of recommended accountants the Bank of Stormwind had provided. Despite their ready service, Jaina unfortunately found herself at the helm of a kingdom with a financially uncertain future in which the bank wasn't entirely convinced it wanted to invest. It had only been after she casually mentioned that her dealings had been exclusively with goblins until now that they became motivated to find her an adviser.

From her second storey window, Jaina had a pleasant view of the market square. When the sun dipped behind the buildings, casting the cobblestone streets into shadow, a small army of lamp-lighters appeared. Jaina waited until the square below was awash in cheerful light, then she donned her shoes and blue cloak, checked her appearance in the mirror by the door, and slipped out into the hall. She strode purposefully to the room at the far end and knocked quietly.

The door opened of it's own volition. The room was not lit; the only illumination came from the window, it's curtains drawn aside and casement open to the salty night air. The door closed behind her and Jaina's first instinct was to whirl and run, for this must be a trap. She stood firm instead, listening, breathing evenly, her eyes quickly adjusting to the gloom. If she was afraid, she would not let on.

"Hello, Lady Proudmoore," said a soft, cultured voice. Jaina found herself facing the speaker, standing just to the right of the window, her form a dim oblong back-lit by the indigo sky.

"Hello," said Jaina, "Do I have the pleasure of addressing Lady Samina Sugarhill?"

"You do," replied the shadow, and struck a single match, turning away and touching it to the wick of a brass lamp before Jaina could completely see her face. She caught a brief glimpse, however, of black curls and kohl-lined eyes, of a long elegant nose, a rounded cheekbone, and full, down-turned lips. Somehow, the image didn't add up. Something in it was familiar, but it didn't fit together.

Samina Sugarhill turned back, and Jaina's heart stammered. The darkened, curled hair didn't fool her; nor did the skillful make-up, the scar that marred her high forehead, or the plain linen fabric of her blouse. Jaina knew a different, but so similar, version of this face, every sculpted plane and hollow, from the angle of the jaw, to the colour of the eyes. She had seen it in her dreams for years, and several months ago, she had seen it in the flesh for the very last time.

"Calia?" she whispered, every nerve trembling with disbelief.

"Sh," said the older woman, and the corners of her eyes crinkled with joy, "My name is Samina, Lady Jaina, and I am only here to offer my humble allegiance as an agent of SI:7."

Jaina stood stunned, watching the woman who called herself Samina move about the room lighting lamps. She carried herself with surety and strength, without a hint of the delicate, courtly poise Jaina had so admired as a girl when she first met Calia Menethil. In truth, she'd found Arthas' older sister intimidating. Calia was so lovely, tall and elegant, every glossy hair in place, her skin scrubbed to a comely ivory. Her gowns fell in appealing folds, never sagging awkwardly or bunching up. Jaina, meanwhile, had been a scrawny scrap of a girl who needed to be constantly reminded not to slouch and frequently tripped on her skirts even though they had been taken up sufficiently for her diminutive size. Of course, young Prince Arthas hadn't cared. He had been over-joyed to find a friend who wasn't put off by a little mud or brambles in the name of adventure. But Jaina had been in awe of Calia's beauty.

Now, she looked like the sort of woman Jaina could imagine meeting down the wrong alley, smiling in the grim fashion of cut-purses and kidnappers, or striking a pose on the bow of a privateer's ship. It was her hair. Jaina had always pictured female pirates with a stormcloud of black curls, probably a product of her father's sea tales.

"You look well," said Calia/Samina, straightening up from the last oil lamp. Like Arthas, she was taller than average, and stood a full head above Jaina. "I must admit, I was startled by your hair."

Jaina smiled. "As am I by your own," she replied, "but I suppose it's necessary to complete the image." She took a seat on one of the plush chairs set out before the hearth grate. "Forgive me, Calia, but I must know. How did you escape?" The lost princess of Lordaeron settled into the chair across from Jaina and leaned back, crossing her long legs at the ankles.

"Samina," she insisted, "I don't mind that old name, but I would rather you be familiar with using the new one." Jaina nodded and Samina continued. "Do you know, it was a memory of you that saved me, I think? Yes. I wasn't in the throne room when Arthas returned. I was angry that he was being so terrible and refused to go meet him with our Father." She shook her head, eyes downcast. "I was just thinking I should be more courteous when one of my chamber maids came tearing into my room. She begged me to leave the castle. She could hardly talk, poor thing, crying and shaking and trying to drag me off. Eventually I think her fear infected me and I did run, but it was too late.

"One of his soldiers caught me. This is when I thought of you, Jaina. Please take no offense, but you were the sort of girl I never wanted to be when we were young. I'd see you about with your skirts hiked up, running like a colt, or squatting in the dirt to look at something, with no thought to your appearance. And when you grew up, there you were with your nose in a book, no idea that gorgeous High Elf was courting you." She sighed and looked slightly abashed.

"But when those men grabbed me by the arm, and then the hair, I knew no princess was going to escape them. They were men of action. They did what was necessary, just as you did. So I bit one of them on the hand and I kicked the other one in the crotch and I ran. They were so startled by my behaviour that they hesitated just long enough for me to flee into the sewers, where I hoped they wouldn't think to look for a cultured young woman." She shifted her seat, watching Jaina with soft blue eyes. "I ran into a group of rather unsavoury people down there and convinced them I was a serving girl from the castle. Eventually, I ended up here, in the SI:7."

Jaina leaned her chin on her knuckles. "Does anyone know? I expect SI:7 would vet an applicant thoroughly before hiring them."

"Someone knows," said Samina, "Higher up the chain of command. There are rumours, and although they're technically right, they all point to the wrong women. Women with my hair colour, or my old name. They're decoys, I think, and I don't think they know it."

"And you don't- no, it isn't my place to ask. Let's move on."

"Ask me," urged Samina, "Because I'm going ask you some very personal questions before the night is over."

Jaina paused. "You don't want anyone to know who you really are? You're heir to the empire of Lordaeron." Samina grimaced.

"I wasn't raised to by heir to anything, Jaina. I was raised to be royalty, to be a lovely ornament, a bride and a queen. I've no training to rule and no desire. I don't fancy the idea of trying to take back Lordaeron from Lady Sylvanas, by diplomacy or force. She seems quite comfortable there." Jaina frowned. "You disapprove? You think I'm a coward, Lady Proudmoore?"

"No, I... doesn't it bother you, what Loraderon has become, the Undercity? It was your home."

"Circumstances change. People change. My home is here now, and yours is in Northrend." She leaned forward, steepling her fingers. "Tell me about that."

Jaina hesitated a moment, and then began at the very start, atop the Frozen Throne. She and Calia hadn't been close; indeed, they had been very different people in years past. But they were both changed now, partly because of Arthas' actions and partly because of their own reactions. Calia was no more a spoiled princess than Jaina was comfortable in her rule of the Scourge. They had adapted and Jaina realized that this too was a thing they shared: the tenacity and ingenuity and spirit to keep going, to find a way to survive and strive for something better.

As she spoke, she found herself sharing information she had not offered to anyone else. She admitted how overwhelmed she had been initially, how lost and depressed and hopeless, staring at the Helm of Domination in her hands and never putting it on, lying to Tirion Fordring every day for weeks. She told of how revolting she found the undead, at first, and how she felt sullied just touching their minds with her power. She went on about how dearly she missed the humid warmth of Theramore, the murky bayous teeming with crocolisks and snakes and a hundred kinds of biting insects, the smell of salt and seaweed and fish and life. If the colour green had a scent, it was a summer afternoon in Theramore.

"And now?" said Samina softly when Jaina's emotional recollection wound down.

"I can't imagine anything more beautiful than the glacier under moonlight," said Jaina earnestly. It had surprised her when she visited Stormwind last time, how much she missed the stark northern landscape but despite the cold and the emptiness and the austerity of the place, it was mesmerizing.

Samina reclined in her chair, raising one black-booted heel to rest on the fireplace grate. "How well did Kagra Strangleheart explain her mission?" asked the agent.

"It was rather vague. She told me she was hired to protect me."

"True," said Samina. "After a fashion. I hired her to kill my brother. She did what any decent adventurer would do and joined the siege. When she learned another vessel would be required to contain the Lich King's power, I instructed her to stay with that person and feed me information. If the new Lich King proved dangerous, I would mobilize SI:7 operatives to assassinate them before they gained control of the power." She paused and looked Jaina directly in the eye. "Tirion Fordring knew all of this, although he has never met me in person. It was his job to find someone suitable to take the place of the Lich King. He chose himself."

"I suspected that much," said Jaina, "though I had no idea SI:7 was involved."

"I'm told you aren't on good terms with the Highlord at the moment."

"Were you told why?"

"He wishes for you to destroy the lich, Kel'Thuzad, and you won't comply. I've heard no satisfactory explanation for that, but I trust that you have one, else you wouldn't be keeping him."

"It's slightly more complicated than that," Jaina began, and quickly outlined the problems with the Cult of the Damned and Kagra's destructive deceit.

"I understand the politics of it. I find myself agreeing with you. I don't want to spend the next decade chasing Cultists out of the Eastern Kingdoms because they're afraid to go north. And I think it's smart of you to learn necromancy if you're going to be steeped in it for the rest of your life. But you've avoided explaining why you trust Kel'Thuzad." She cocked her head, genuinely curious, without judgement. "I'll admit, someone like him would make a terrific ally, but only if you were absolutely certain of their motives. Are you?"

Jaina didn't answer immediately. She touched the link between herself and the lich, wondering just how far distant they could be and still communicate.

My King?

Apparently they could be pretty far apart.

I'm well. What are you doing right now? Besides the unreal sensation of his voice inside her head, she could also tell that he was agitated about something.

Imuruk and I have made a rather troubling discovery.

How troubling?

Nothing that I can't handle in your absence, he assured her, the words riding on a burst of confidence. Whatever it was, he thoroughly believed it did not require her attention. This didn't necessarily mean it was something he should be doing alone- or more importantly, doing his way.

Handle it with Imuruk's input, please, she instructed. Not that the shaman couldn't be bullied into agreeing with Kel'Thuzad, but at least there would be one opinion involved that sought non-violent solutions.

Yes, my King.

Jaina blinked, realizing she had been sitting still and silent for longer than was entirely polite. "Kel'Thuzad's motives are as pure as they can be, given his nature. He is no enemy of mine, nor directly of yours." She told Samina of the bond forged between the incorporeal Lich King and his servant years ago, before Arthas fell, and then, haltingly, leaving out the most personal flavours of the truth, she explained how her will affected the Scourge, including Kel'Thuzad. As Samina pondered the gravity of this admission, Jaina watched her, still shocked to find her here, alive. Perhaps the ease Jaina felt with her was some special rogue trickery, something the SI:7 practiced to coax information out of their subjects. Jaina doubted it. She had spent the past months sharply aware of the motives around her, and had developed a healthy degree of caution.

"Are you in communication with Kel'Thuzad now?" asked Samina, eyebrows creeping towards her hairline in understandable doubt. Jaina nodded once.

"It's not exactly telepathy," she tried to explain, "I can speak to all of the Scourge but so far, only Kel'Thuzad can answer me, and only if I let him. I've no practice with shutting him out, though." At some point, I must learn to shield my mind if only to save my poor teacher from too much information. "The former Lich Kings used it as a martial tool, stationing Kel'Thuzad elsewhere on the field of battle for a more complete view."

"That is useful," agreed Samina. "What I wouldn't give for a way to instantly communicate with my contacts. It takes Kagra's packets days to reach me and days matter in this business. So," she said, leaning forward, elbows on knees, "you trust him because you can read his mind and tell if he's being honest with you."

"It's more than that," Jaina added. "Kagra told you of our battle with the Vrykul. Did she tell you what happened, just before I was injured?"

"Her account of the battle was patchy. She spent most of it fighting for her life, rather than focusing on her mission. Your words will be more accurate anyway. What happened?"

Jaina smoothed her skirt over her knees, picking a tell-tale black cat hair from the weave. "We aren't sure how it works just yet," she began, "but it seems that the Lich King's magic can adapt to it's host somewhat. During the battle, it was too much and too soon. The necromantic magic was destroying my body. It hurt to cast, breathe, walk, think. But Kel'Thuzad is already undead, and a master necromancer, so I proposed that I cast through him."

"Is that typical? Do mages do that?" asked Samina, perplexed.

"Yes. It was taught in a final year course at Dalaran. Normally, a casting partnership has two participants: one person acts as conduit to shape and direct the spell, and one person acts as catalyst to provide the raw energy. Both parties must cast the same spell the same way, but they take on different roles. It helps to amplify the power and focus, since it's easier for a person to concentrate on only doing one thing than doing two. Battle mages learn to group cast and refine the practice even further." Samina nodded, understanding.

"What Kel'Thuzad and I did was similar, but different. He acted as the conduit and I acted as the catalyst, but we were physically touching and in each other's minds too when we cast. I saw everything for a split second- his whole life, every memory and sense and emotion. I thought I was going to black out, it was far too much to comprehend at once! And I haven't yet learned to shield myself, so I assume he glimpsed something similar of me." She toyed with a loose thread in the fabric. "It was the most intimate experience I've ever shared with another person. I trust him because I know he is worth trusting, despite all he's done and is still capable of doing."

"You mages," murmured the rogue, eyes never leaving Jaina's face, "I'll grant you I don't truly understand how or why any of that worked, but it seems you have a concrete reason for keeping him around. What an unfortunate mind to be inside, though."

"Not really," said Jaina. There were things in Kel'Thuzad's memory that made her cringe and gag with horror, but there were things that astonished her as well. "If sharing that taught me anything, it's that no person is truly bad." She paused. "I needed to believe that Arthas wasn't lost to me. I know that a piece of him survived right up to the end, Calia, just a tiny piece. He kept my locket. Kel'Thuzad gave it back to me after the battle; I don't know how he got it. But he kept it, all that time. He kept it."

The princess of Lordaeron couldn't hide the downward tug at the corner of her lips. "Deep down inside, he was probably terrified." Jaina nodded, afraid to speak lest she lose her composure entirely and abruptly realized why Samina was so easy to talk to: she was a living, human woman who had survived the same history as Jaina, loving and losing Arthas. At the Citadel, she had no one to confide in this way. The closest she might come was Kel'Thuzad, again, but he had lived a different version of events and Jaina needed the understanding that came with familiarity.

Hastily, Jaina sat forward in her chair, straight-backed, shoving the memories aside. We're different people now. "So, Miss Sugarhill," she said, all business, "What can Northrend do for SI:7?"


	16. Intermission : Some Like it Cold

**1.** **Candescence**

The layer of fresh snow in the clearing was so deep it came up to Kel'Thuzad's thighs. The youth didn't mind; he happily plowed a trail towards the far side. Behind him padded a huge, blue-furred saber cat, far past the prime of his life, with cloudy eyes and sagging spine. While Kel'Thuzad busied himself making a path, the old cat paused to chew at an ice-ball between the pads of one paw.

"Let me do that," said the young man. He crouched beside the saber and took off his glove, pinching the lump of ice in his fingers to melt it free of the fur. "You don't have to follow me, Windchill," he continued. "I'm just exploring." The cat grunted and butted his broad head against Kel'Thuzad's chest. "Oh, all right."

The snow thinned once they were back into the forest where the trees bore most of its weight. Kel'Thuzad wound between the towering conifers, pausing to crawl beneath the spreading branches when he spotted animal tracks here or there. Once, he flushed a squirrel, which had the ill luck to sprint directly into Windchill's paws. Old as he was, the cat struck before the rodent knew he was there.

The pair continued on until they came out of the treeline again, this time happening upon a road.

Kel'Thuzad glanced up and down it cautiously. Winterspring was an inhospitable place for highwaymen, but predators took advantage of the breadth of the roads as well, both as hunting grounds and as pathways. As he was contemplating turning around and continuing in another direction, Windchill suddenly raised his head, sucking at the chilly air, and growled.

"What is it?" whispered Kel'Thuzad. He crouched beside the saber cat, squinting in the direction Windchill was staring. At midday, the snow was blinding in the open. "I don't see anything." But then he heard a noise, a shriek, muffled by distance and the insulating effect of the snow. He hesitated for a moment; there was only one family within a week's ride of his own and he was nowhere near their property. Whoever was making the noise likely wasn't one of them.  _A stranger._

"We should go see if they need help," said Kel'Thuzad tentatively, looking to Windchill for affirmation. The big cat yawned, but twitched his ears towards the cries. "Okay," he said and touched the hilt of the short dagger he wore on his hip. Kel'Thuzad had never used it for anything besides cutting kindling or undoing particularly difficult knots.

They trotted along the inside edge of the treeline, the boy running easily, the cat pacing stiffly behind. The cries led them deeper into the forest.

"Help!" The voice was weak and tearful. Kel'Thuzad slid to a halt, peering between the bare trunks and branches.

"Hello?" he called out, moving cautiously toward the sound.

"Oh, oh th-thank Elune! Please,  _please_  help me!" The speaker burst into broken sobs. Kel'Thuzad saw it now: the edge of a hole in the ground, a pit-trap dug for large animals, covered by spruce bows and snowfall. He dropped to all fours and crawled to the caved-in lip of the trap.

"Hello down there." A pair of glistening silver eyes stared up at him. He blinked. It was a girl, probably no older than himself,  _kal'dorei_  with wild mauve hair and dusky skin. She was bare-handed and had lost a boot; her jacket was much too thin for the weather and she was shivering hard.

"What are  _you_?"

"I'm Kel'Thuzad," he replied, "I'm a human."

"There's no humans in Winterspring," said the elven girl confidently, teeth chattering.

"Okay, then I'm a very small ice giant. Who are  _you_?"

"N-Nyra," she sniffed. She looked around. "P-please, can you g-get me out of here?" The pit was a good three meters deep, but when Nyra fell through the covering branches, her light weight had only collapsed part of it. She had slid into the pit slowly enough to avoid being impaled on the sharpened pikes at the bottom and Kel'Thuzad could see where she had knocked over some of the pikes and dragged branches under the intact roof of the trap for shelter.

"I'll try," he said, "Can you climb up at all?" Nyra struggled through the debris and scrabbled vainly at the wall. She bit her lip and her eyes filled with tears.

"N-no," she whimpered. "Do you have a r-rope?"

"Uh, no. But I have a belt! So do you. Throw it up to me. And Windchill has a collar!" He unfastened the heavy leather strap around the saber cat's neck, then tied his own belt through the buckle. Nyra fumbled with her own, fingers stiff with cold, but tugged it free of her trousers at last, carefully throwing it up to the boy. He ran her belt through the buckle of his and triumphantly tossed the make-shift rope into the pit.

It fell a meter short of Nyra's reaching fingers. She jumped with all her might but still couldn't catch the end and began to cry weakly.

"It won't work," she sobbed.

"Hold on," he said. Her desperation was contagious. "I'll get you out, don't worry. If I tie my jacket to the end, you'll be able to reach it. Okay? It'll work. Hold on." He reeled in the line, took off his padded coat and awkwardly tied it by one sleeve. "Can you reach it now?"

"Yeah! I've got it!" He felt the contraption go taut in his hands and sat down hard as she feverishly pulled herself up. He struggled not to be dragged over the edge, heels jammed down through the snow and into the frozen soil beneath. Although she was still a child, Nyra was  _kal'dorei_  and already taller and heavier than ten-year old Kel'Thuzad, and despite his best efforts, he felt himself being hauled into the trap.

"Wait, I can't- I need to brace-" Suddenly he was anchored, Windchill's teeth clamped into the back of his shirt. It wasn't going to hold for long with the cat's fangs digging into it, but it gave him just enough time to help Nyra over the edge. With a squeak of triumph, she fell on top of him and they piled backwards into the cat.

"I can't believe that worked!" she crowed, sitting up. Kel'Thuzad pushed himself up on his elbows in the snow, shaking his head. Nyra was sitting on his legs, studying him with unabashed curiosity. He couldn't really blame her. His colourless skin, grey eyes and thick brown hair were alien to the Night Elves, and although he had been raised to move and stalk and listen just like his siblings, he already understood he would never be as tall or as strong or as graceful.

"How did you end up in there, anyway? Where did you come from?" he asked. She stood up, hopping on her one booted foot. Her sock was already ruined, soaked through and filthy.

"My parents decided to visit Everlook for the winter," she said, clearly disappointed by this idea, "but there's no other kids to play with and it's really boring, so I went out to the stables to look at the mounts and..." She paused. "I- I stole someone's wintersaber cat. I just wanted to ride it around outside the town walls but it got spooked, or maybe it just wanted to run, or it didn't like me"

"It ran all the way here from Everlook? That's  _days_  away."

"No," said Nyra heavily. "I fell off. And then I got lost."

"You got  _lost_? But-" Kel'Thuzad gestured to the sun, a bright round smudge in the overcast sky, "-you know what direction you went, right? Couldn't you find your way back?"

"No," Nyra snapped, and angrily brushed twigs and dirt off her clothes, "I'm not  _like_  you," she said reproachfully. "I grew up in a  _city_." Kel'Thuzad blinked, confused. She continued, exasperated, "Not in the wild, like you! I don't know how to find my way around by the sun and the stars and what to eat or-" She sniffled. "How to ride very well," She glanced at Windchill, who had one leg up over his shoulder, licking himself without regard for polite company.

"Well, nobody rides Windchill. He's too old."

Nyra's lip quivered. "I need to get back to Everlook," she whimpered, "I'm cold and I'm hungry." Her luminous eyes brimmed with tears again and Kel'Thuzad realized how long she must have been in the pit.

"Come back to my house. My parents'll feed you and you can have my sister's old coat and we can take you back tomorrow."

She hesitated. "My parents said humans aren't trustworthy."

"My family's  _kal'dorei_ , like you. Come on, you must be starving."

Kel'Thuzad lead the city girl back through the forest, Windchill trailing behind. As they walked, he pointed out details that were familiar to him but virtually invisible to her. After a few kilometers, he gave Nyra his jacket. By the time they reached his home, she was so tired she was leaning on Windchill, too exhausted even to shiver.

His parents fussed, and his siblings crowded in to see the stranger, but Kel'Thuzad was overwhelmed with fatigue. He curled up with Windchill purring against his back and fell asleep.

The next morning when he woke, it was to his brother, Thalaras, cooking breakfast.

"Where's Nyra?" he asked. Alunin and Sa'reya were at the table already, eating and glaring at each other.

"Mum and dad took her back to Everlook," said Alunin. He pointed at Sa'reya. "She ate my shoes!"

Kel'Thuzad rolled his eyes. Sa'reya, still learning to control her feral side when in bear form, was as bad as a worg puppy with leather goods. "How come they left so early? I wanted to go too," he said, disappointed. Thalaras ruffled his hair and shoved him toward the table, laying a plate of breakfast out before him.

"You know you can't."

"But I wanted to say good-bye at least," argued Kel'Thuzad. "How far away does she live?"

"Way far away," answered Sa'reya around a mouthful of food, "And you have to take a boat to get there." Kel'Thuzad's shoulders slumped and he quietly attended to his breakfast. He had been on a boat once, though he couldn't remember. His parents told him how Thalaras and Sa'reya, scrambling up and down the cliffs to the east, jumping off the great tumbled chunks of rock into the autumn ocean, had spied a heap of wreckage floating on the tide. They had swum out to the debris, curious. Had it been any later in the year, the water would have been too cold to try, but it still retained just enough summer heat and the siblings had paddled around, shouting discoveries to each other.

It was a sailing ship, or part of one, long and shallow with a broad, flat bottom. There were locks for oars along the intact lengths of railing, and a broken mast with some tattered canvas too water-logged to be of a discernible colour. It was mostly sunken already, carried by the currents that swept down the southeast coast of Winterspring. Sa'reya had climbed aboard what remained, looking for treasures or curiosities, and she had found one. They didn't know what he was at first, speculating on the journey back home. Perhaps he was a baby yeti! Or a naga, since they'd found him in the water. But Kel'Thuzad was human and Thalaras and Sa'reya had been banished from the house while their parents decided his fate.

Perhaps it would have been kinder to return him to the wreck, to let him perish as his birth parents surely had, and not invite him into a world he would never truly be part of. Certainly history would have cheered the option, had it been party to the choice. But Night Elves did not often have children, and although this couple had borne two already, here was a third, product of some distant, unknown tragedy, without parents or heritage or name. He was a spark, a life just struck, without form or destiny yet, and so Thalaras and Sa'reya were allowed back in and introduced to their adopted brother.

There were rules to follow, every day since then. He mustn't go near Everlook, the adventurer's town where Tauren druids, passing through Timbermaw Hold from Moonglade, would stay while they learned and hunted in the high wilderness. He mustn't ever go to Starfall Village, far away to the west and the north, lest he be seen by other Night Elves. And he must never go south. South there were ice giants and worse: dragonspawn from the Blue flight, who practiced the sort of magic that didn't come from Elune or the natural world.

Kel'Thuzad obediently followed them all. He had his brothers and sister, Windchill and his parents, and when their elderly neighbour, Aurissa Palestone, appeared unannounced on their stoop one morning, Kel'Thuzad gained the friendship of her niece and nephew as well. He learned and explored and played and never felt deprived by the strict rules his parents enforced.

But Nyra hadn't thought he was so terrible and surely the fact he had rescued her from the pit meant that her parents wouldn't think so either. Kel'Thuzad sighed and began to wonder if his parents weren't just a little bit too strict.

Years passed, and Kel'Thuzad learned to break rules. He and Windchill snuck over to Everlook one summer and watched from the cliffs above the town as two Tauren men practiced some druidic ritual on the short-lived mat of green outside the walls. They were huge and bestial and Kel'Thuzad was spellbound. The  _kal'dorei_  would tolerate creatures like this on their land, but not him? They were twice his height and looked like they could snap a Night Elf in two over their knee.

He, Alunin, and Minuvar Palestone spent a month hunting owlbears the next winter, as the things were plaguing their parents' land. Kel'Thuzad crept away during the night, hearing voices he didn't recognize and watched, wide-eyed as two blue-scaled dragonspawn plodded unknowingly by their camp, strange magic lights bobbing by their shoulders to illuminate the road. He followed them for kilometers, stealthy as a saber cat, and returned to camp before Alu and Min had awakened, filled with wonder and terror.

Windchill died the year after. Kel'Thuzad found a replacement in his sister, who would rather roam the woods with her strange brother perched on her shoulders than study the history of druidism indoors. Sa'reya became his accomplice in many more missions of spying and curiosity, to Everlook, to Starfall, even to Mazthoril where the Blue Dragonflight worked their dangerous, potent magic. They imagined what it would be like to be one of the sleek, scaled dragonspawn, with four legs and two arms and a mouth full of glittering fangs. They ventured further south, hoping and fearing for a glimpse of the ice giants rumoured to watch the bridge to Mount Hyjal's peak, but they never saw any.

It was early fall, when the leaves in the undergrowth were yellow and brown but still attached to the branches. Sa'reya shuffled her huge, clawed paws through last year's leaves, kicking up their brittle grey skeletons in a gust of sound.

"Rathuin doesn't know anything about knives," scoffed Kel'Thuzad, taking advantage of his sister's current inability to argue with him, "I tried his last time we were at Aurissa's and the balance is all wrong. It's too heavy in the hilt." The druid grunted, flicking her ears in lazy dissent. Kel'Thuzad knew she liked Rathuin-  _a lot_ \- but he was stymied why she would fawn over someone who couldn't even pick out a decent blade. "I bet he got it just because it's imported and expensive."

Sa'reya snorted and reared up on her hind legs. Kel'Thuzad tumbled off her back with a yelp, twisting in mid-air and landing on his feet.

"Hey! A little warning next time would be nice!"

The druid shifted abruptly into her normal shape and pointed south through the undergrowth. "I heard something. Listen." They stood side by side, straining to distinguish anything peculiar amongst the wash of regular forest sounds. "There!" said Sa'reya. "I heard a voice!"

Kel'Thuzad shook his head, resenting his poor human hearing for the umpteenth time. "I don't hear it." Then the ground shook beneath them, a deep, vertigo-inducing shudder. The siblings reeled for a moment.

"Did you feel that?"

"Yeah, I felt it. Was that an earthquake?"

"I don't think so," said Sa'reya and shrugged into her bear form again. Kel'Thuzad scrambled up onto her shoulders, pulling his bow round off his back as the druid began to jog towards the sound and the tremor. There was a trick to riding a bear. It wasn't the same as riding a saber cat. Bears walked flat on their feet, rather than on their toes, their backs sloped down from their massive shoulders, and they took long, jarring strides until they were at full gallop. It was easier to balance in a crouch, knees drawn up, feet braced against Sa'reya's ribs, than it was to put his butt down and ride.

They emerged from the trees, the druid growling, the youth with an arrow nocked and ready, eyes flashing as they came upon the road. Sa'reya sniffed warily and snorted, lunging south at a ground-eating lope. Kel'Thuzad hastily put up his arrow and steadied himself with one hand clutching her thick fur. Beneath her paws, the ground shuddered again. The druid charged onwards, unfazed.

The road came down an incline and made a bend to the east at the same time. The geography obscured their line of sight, but it also hid their approach from whatever Sa'reya had smelled. As they burst over the crest of the horizon, Kel'Thuzad sucked in a startled gasp: there was an ice giant on the road, wielding a tremendous stone club overhead as it took aim at something on the ground below.

Sa'reya roared a challenge, accelerating down the slope to a full gallop. The giant shifted it's attention off the huddled victim to the barreling druid and adjusted it's grip on the club. Kel'Thuzad leapt from his sister's back, tucked himself into a ball and rolled into the bed of leaves beside the road. He was on his feet instantly, sighting and firing an arrow that bit into the giant's knuckle. He cursed. He'd been aiming for it's eye. It bellowed and pawed at the tiny shaft with it's other hand. Sa'reya launched herself over the motionless heap in the road and slammed her shoulder into the giant's knee. It staggered, and took a step back, focused on the snarling druid.

Kel'Thuzad dashed across the open ground to where the giant's original victim lay. It was a strange saber cat, one with sleek black fur bearing silver spots, and beneath it, a young woman with silky mauve hair.

" _Nyra_?" he said, shocked. "What are you doing here?" She moaned and rolled over beneath the cat, then blinked up at him and broke into a wide smile.

"Kel'Thuzad! Well, I was looking for you. I never got to say 'thank you'." Then she ran her hands over the dark saber. "Twilight?" she whimpered. "Twilight!" The cat whined and tried to haul itself up, but Kel'Thuzad could see it's hind legs did not respond. There was a grotesque bend in the saber's spine halfway down it's back. "Oh,  _no_..."

Off to their left, Sa'reya harried the giant back with savage growls and swipes of her claws, but the contest was poorly matched. Kel'Thuzad pulled Nyra to her feet.

"We gotta help my sister," he said breathlessly. "Do you have a weapon?"

"N-no," said Nyra, wide-eyed, watching the druid roar defiantly as the giant raised its weapon once more. "Oh Elune, no, it will crush her! G-give me your bow!" she demanded, "I can shoot it!" Kel'Thuzad did and unsheathed his dagger with a shaking hand. It was his only other weapon and it was almost useless against a creature of such size, but he knew the  _kal'dorei_  and Nyra was probably a much better shot than he was. He balked a moment, watching her draw the bow with practiced ease, the wood bending further than he had ever made it.

"Dagger it is," he muttered and sprinted toward his sister. The club came down between them, throwing both Kel'Thuzad and Sa'reya off their feet. He scrambled up and slashed wildly at the gnarled, grey back of the monster's hand. The blade didn't even break the skin. Sa'reya bellowed and grabbed the giant by the thumb, biting and releasing again and again, shredding muscle and tendons.

The giant howled and punched Sa'reya with it's free hand, sending the bear flying. She landed bonelessly, unconscious from the blow, and the giant stomped toward her. Kel'Thuzad watched two more arrows thud into the creature's face without it registering their presence. His heart pounded and he froze in a moment of indecision.  _What do I do? How do I hurt it?_  He dashed at the giant, dragging the blade back and forth across the monster's exposed heel, sawing at the tendon. It kicked backward at him, momentarily distracted from Sa'reya's still form, and Kel'Thuzad threw himself sideways just in time to avoid being crushed. Then he was up, running to his sister's side, shaking her shoulder.

"Wake up!" he shouted, "Sa'reya! You have to wake up, come on! Wake up!  _Wake up!_ " They couldn't win, but they could flee. "Run, Nyra! Go north!"

"I can't leave Twilight," she replied tearfully.

" _Just run!_ " The giant reared back, club in it's undamaged hand, spittle frothing around it's gaping mouth as it eyed Kel'Thuzad and Sa'reya. He was too frightened to move, crouched in front of his sister, eyes round, staring at the size of the stone club, imagining what it would feel like to be crushed beneath it. He probably wouldn't die right away. It might have to hit him more than once. It would definitely have to hit Sa'reya more than once. He raised his hands in front of him, for all the good it would do them. His breath hitched with paralyzing terror. He couldn't breathe. The club began to descend.

And suddenly, Kel'Thuzad wasn't scared. He was  _furious_. How dare this monstrous thing attack them! How dare it murder Nyra's beautiful, strange saber cat!  _How dare it hurt his sister!_  His vision went red, then grey, then he flung himself forward with a bestial howl, rage surging before him in a wave he swore he could see. His fingers curled into talons and he leapt at the ice giant, blind and utterly mad.

There was a noise like an avalanche in his ears, a cracking  _boom_  and the bone-shaking, visceral sensation of sound so enormous it reverberated through his entire being. Then he was off-balance and falling, and he could hear the diminishing echoes shuddering down the valley. Then he was on his face in the leaves.

He wasn't unconscious. He fought to breathe, to remember that he had to. Distantly, he heard something screaming and someone shouting and the ground jostled his aching body. The noise and the tremors died down eventually. Still, Kel'Thuzad forced himself to take a breath and let it out.

"Kel?" A hand settled lightly on his shoulder. "Kel? Little brother? Can you hear me?"

"Is he dead?" he heard a second voice ask.

"No. Kel, answer me. You're scaring me."  _Sa'reya_. He forced his muscles to obey him and weakly rolled over onto his back.

"I can't see anything."

"It'll pass," said Sa'reya. "I think."

"I don't feel right."

"Well, I'm not much of a healer, but I'm pretty sure no living creature is supposed to channel that much energy through their own body. Your heartbeat's all out of whack."

Kel'Thuzad groaned. "So's everything else," he croaked. "What happened? Did I get hit by lightning?"

Sa'reya paused; he could feel her pushing him this way and that, looking for injuries. "Not exactly," she said. "It wasn't exactly lightning and I think you might have... made it." She helped him sit up.

"What do you mean?"

Sa'reya was quiet for too long, prodding him in the ribs, putting her ear against his chest and then his back, listening to his body work.

"What do you mean  _I might have made it_?" he asked again. A feeling of expansive warmth flowed from her palms, placed gently on his cheeks and presently he could see again. Sa'reya smiled.

"I think you're a mage."

Nyra was staring at him, trembling with shock, frowning in disappointment. "But mages are  _evil_!" she whispered.

"Don't be foolish," said Sa'reya sharply, "Whatever he did just now kept us from being smashed into stew. Show some respect!" Nyra fell silent, but Kel'Thuzad could see her hesitation and reluctance to touch him as she and his sister lifted him onto his feet.

"Maybe I can just ignore it," he mumbled, clumsily brushing the snow off his tunic.

Sa'reya looked down at him, worriedly. "Kel," she said, "magic might be dangerous, but any talent like that is more dangerous if you choose to be ignorant about it."

"Well, nobody here knows anything about that sort of magic!" he said, hoping she'd agree and help him figure out how to forget this had ever happened.

"Not  _nobody_..." said the druid, and glanced over her shoulder in the direction of Mazthoril and it's fearsome blue dragons. "Somebody in Winterspring knows a lot about this sort of magic."

**2\. Stealing People's Mail**

Roxie Rocketsocks was 19 years old, and in limbo. Her friends had aspirations, goals, and dreams, even apprenticeships, but Roxie was still considering her possibilities. It was a polite way of saying she had no idea what she wanted to do with her life. She knew one thing, though. Like any good, green-blooded goblin, Roxie liked  _gold_. So, while she made up her mind about her future, she got the highest paying job she could find without years of training or natural talents: she became a mail carrier.

In some places that weren't Azeroth, being a mail carrier was a healthy, rewarding, respectable career. Soon after Roxie signed the Non-Disclosure Agreement and the waiver, she realized there was a reason why the Azeroth Post offered such astoundingly rich pay-cheques to entry-level employees. It was, without peer, the most dangerous job in the whole gold-damned world.

Adventurers and heroes hurled themselves into battle across the planet, equipped with weapons and armour and potions and scrolls and  _back-up_ , and lived to win admiration, ballads of prowess and achievement, and loads of money.

The carriers of the Azeroth Post worked alone, equipped with a leather satchel, a switchblade, and an organ donor card. They trekked across unforgiving terrain packed with feuding soldiers, blood-thirsty demons, rampaging undead, swarms of Murlocs, cantankerous elementals, scheming mages, marauding dragons, every sort of carnivorous animal imaginable, bugs, floods, bad roads, rockslides, forest fires, thieves, poachers, pirates, avalanches, quicksand, unreliable maps, and when they completed their route, they collected their pay, turned around and did it again.  _Nobody_  wrote ballads about them.

Roxie's first route sent her from Ashenvale to Feralas, via the Barrens. It was considered a 'training route' being relatively short and direct. When she survived that, she was bumped up a pay grade and given the grueling Darnassus-Theramore-Stormwind-Ironforge run for a year. Then they gave her three days of vacation. Unfortunately, she was still the newest (surviving) hire, and so when they needed someone to do an emergency delivery to Northrend, they called on Roxie.

"I still got two days break left!" she complained, pushing her sun-goggles up on top of her head. The Postmaster General of the Kalimdor Central Processing Plant spared her a withering glance.

"Suck it up, cupcake," he drawled, "Our reputation's more important than your tan. I'm givin' you a week to get this letter up to Icecrown Citadel-"

"Whaaaaaat!"

"-an' when you get back," he grinned, spreading his hands in a gesture of magnanimous good will, "You'll be off the novice list. Aw, what the heck. I'll throw in a bonus. Whattaya say... four hundred gold pieces?"

"I say you're a cheapskate and a slave driver!"

"Look, those demon orcs in Felwood killed a carrier and stole his mail satchel. Well, we finally got it back and there's a letter for the freakin' Lich King in there. Four hundred and fifty gold pieces, now get outta my hair." He tossed a battered leather bag at her.

"Yeah, you  _wish_  you had hair..." grumbled Roxie. Well, at least it was a straight run with no stops and when it was over, she would be off the novice list and back on vacation. If she survived.

The trip itself was uneventful, as far as Roxie's definition went. Their zepplin was attacked by harpies on its approach to Warsong Hold, and Arctic hyenas devoured the ice mammoth she rented to cross the Dragonblight. Roxie trudged on foot over the border into Crystalsong Forest, acquired a gryphon in Dalaran, and alighted on the broad obsidian staircase leading to the Citadel's towering front doors amid some unholy lovechild of rain and snow. In total, the journey had taken her four days, which was  _almost_  respectable for a postal worker and a source of bragging for anyone else.

Roxie pushed her hood back. There were four grotesque abominations flanking the entrance.

"Yo," said Roxie, "I got a letter here for your boss."

One of the shambling things peered at her credentials. Roxie was not entirely sure it could read. "Okay," it said and the doors were pushed open before her. Roxie crossed the threshold, looking around with mild curiosity. Almost everything was black and what wasn't, was a rich dark blue.

"Guess it's easy matching colours." She hadn't been told what to expect in the way of hospitality. The last mail carrier to deliver to the Citadel had been eaten by Magnataurs on the return journey.

"Postman!" A human man dressed in black boots and trousers and nothing else strode out of one shadowed corridor, grinning in welcome. Roxie sized up his glowing eyes, curly brown hair, and the sledgehammer balanced carelessly over one shoulder.

"Hey yourself," she chirped. "Roxie Rocketsocks, at your service. I have a letter for the Lich King."

"Martin Starkweather," he replied, then frowned and lowered the hammer to lean on it. "Lady Jaina is in Stormwind," he told her, "for the next week at least, I'm told. Is it urgent?"

"Not marked as such," said Roxie, "but it's been lost for a while in Felwood, so it might be urgent by now. Can I give it to you?" Starkweather shook his head.

"Probably best to leave it with Lord Kel'Thuzad. Come on, I'll show you there." He led her down the corridor, up a flight of stairs, out a door marked 'Do Not Enter', and across a parapet stabilized by a series of precarious wooden scaffolds. A mixed-species crew of workers was busily re-building a section of the rampart below. Starkweather paused to don a shirt and official-looking black armour, then waved Roxie along.

He led her deeper into the Citadel, down sprawling stairways and through narrow, high-roofed halls, to a tall black door without ornamentation. The Death Knight paused, then knocked. Roxie reached into the satchel and retrieved the letter.

"What." It wasn't an inquiry; it was a statement of disinterest.

"Sir," said Roxie, "I have a letter for your Mistress." She held up the battered envelope. She'd never seen a lich before, but they were included in the Postal Worker's Bestiary, under the heading 'Whatever They're Paying You... It Isn't Enough.' The lich plucked the letter from her hand and slit the envelope with the tip of one talon.

Roxie was aghast. "Sir!" she said, shocked, "You can't open someone else's mail. It's a felony!"

Kel'Thuzad ignored her and withdrew the letter, turning back to his lab. "You can go," he said. Starkweather backed up with a bow, but Roxie took a step forward.

"Sir, you can't read that! It isn't addressed to you!"

The lich turned to face her and somewhere between the recognition of imminent death, her well-developed sense of self-preservation, and the outrage at his egregious disregard for proper postal etiquette, Roxie had an epiphany:  _THIS_   _is what I want to do for the rest of my life_!

"It is my duty as an employee of the Azeroth Post to inform the authorities of your actions," she asserted with a conviction she had never felt before, raising one knobbly green finger in protest. "And you will be dealt with!"

Kel'Thuzad cocked his head, slowly unfolded the letter, and dropped the envelope with exaggerated disdain. It fluttered down from his impressive height and landed at Roxie's feet. He focused on the page.

"This is your final warning, sir," said Roxie. Starkweather had retreated down the hall and around a corner. She was on her own. "I will report your actions to the Postmaster General. There will be repercussions."

Kel'Thuzad paused.

"That's right," she continued, buoyed by a heady sense of justice, "When you mess with the post office, you mess with  _all_  of us. You do want your Mistress to get her mail, don't you?"

Kel'Thuzad's expression couldn't change, but the air around them suddenly boiled with electricity and ill intent. Then he re-folded the letter and tucked it inside his mantle. "You may go," he ground out, clearly restraining himself from doing something fatal and probably prolonged to Roxie.

As the young postal worker marched past Starkweather, she grinned to herself.  _This is what I was born for! Can't_ nothing _stop the post!_

**3\. Lay Your Hammer Down**

Kel'Thuzad retreated to his lab. Jaina had given him explicit instructions to maintain the status quo at Icecrown while she was delayed in Stormwind, asserting that it was necessary for him to consult her on all correspondence with foreign governments, and any movement of troops or resources. Murdering a mail carrier would definitely make correspondence difficult, but oh how it chafed to let the smug little cretin go without so much as a missing limb.

Nevertheless, it was his duty to obey. He was to report to Jaina at the end of each day with what news and information he had gathered. Kel'Thuzad had found himself quietly acquiescing without complaint or argument until the post arrived; after all, the rule of the Scourge was Jaina's exclusive domain and her values alone would determine the kingdom's course.

_When do you expect to return, my King?_  he asked that evening.  _Earthsinger has been to her Taunka village and they've determined you to be a worthwhile ally, finally. They wish to begin drawing up a proper treaty._  Earthsinger had come to him that afternoon, guided to the laboratory by Imuruk, who seemed all too proud of the lich's lair. The Tauren was rather less than impressed by the collection of texts and study materials Kel'Thuzad had begun to amass, grimacing when Imuruk showed her a jar containing the severed hand of a holy priest that, to Kel'Thuzad's fascination, still lurched and flexed. She sounded relieved that her tenure as temporary ambassador would be coming to an end.

**That's splendid news!** Jaina's excitement and joy flooded through the link and gave Kel'Thuzad a light-headed sensation he knew was purely arcane. **I have been asked to appear in Ironforge as a gesture of good faith three days from now, but I will return promptly afterward. You may assure Earthsinger that the Taunka will be my first priority when I get back.**

_I will pass on your enthusiastic reception,_ he acknowledged _._

**Was there something more?**

_You're falling behind in your studies,_  he said disapprovingly.

**I have little choice,**  she argued,  **though**   **I brought my notes along and I've been reading diligently. I haven't been able to practice combat techniques, obviously.**

Kel'Thuzad was privately amused at the thought of Jaina asking random adventurers to spar with her. Some of them likely would be willing, for bragging rights or out of curiosity, but it was the kind of spectacle she would never willingly indulge in.

They let the link fall silent, and Kel'Thuzad turned his attention to the Helm, cradled before him on the table between the bronze fingers of a glassware vice. He leaned down to scrutinize a knot in the weave that he had discovered the night before.

"Stavros," he said, indicating the area with one long claw, "take this down exactly as it appears." The necromancer bowed affirmation, and Kel'Thuzad straightened. He had released the Thuzadin from Jaina's makeshift dungeon to assist his research, though only during the night when fewer of the living were about. Imuruk, who seemed to sleep in fitful snatches whenever the mood took him, was so far the only non-Scourge individual to encounter the Cult necromancers and the shaman was predictably blasé about meeting them.

"When Lilly and Tarlo return, have them create a suspension of lotus oil and silver. If Imuruk comes looking for me, tell him I've gone to speak with Earthsinger and," he paused, "tell him not to  _touch_  anything."

"Yes, my Lord," Stavros said with a ghost of a shudder. The man had a dislike of insects that bordered on the neurotic.

Kel'Thuzad made his way from the laboratory in the sunken sub-basement, down corridors that were no longer hung with cobwebs and grim heraldry. Jaina had ordered the geists to make use of their excessive energy one night, pulling down the Scourge banners either too mangled to be decorative or too upsetting in their iconography to be looked upon daily, and scrubbing the walls beneath. The black rock gleamed in the frostfire torchlight.

He scouted the kitchen first, since Earthsinger could frequently be found there, cooking or gossiping and most often both. But the torches were put out and the iron stove was cold, benches pushed neatly under the table, pots stacked on the side board. Kel'Thuzad was not one for writing memos when he needed to pass on information. He grumbled to himself, having little idea where next to expand his search. _Imuruk would know where to find her._

He made for the tunnel in the Oratory floor. The six Nerubian guards that watched the opening eyed him coolly as he approached.

"Consort-Ambassador Imuruk left this tunnel thirty-seven minutes ago, Lichlord," one of them informed him smartly. Time, in the dayless, nightless world underground was carefully measured and schedules strictly adhered to. Despite having been subterranean creatures for thousands of years, the Nerubains' circadian functions had changed little and they retained the tendency to follow a natural rhythm mirroring Azeroth's twenty-four hour day.

"Did he give you an intended destination?" asked Kel'Thuzad.

The two nearest soldiers glanced at each other. "He was talking to himself," said the first, "He mentioned a broken floor and a room with red walls. He didn't stop to explain himself."

"Hmm," replied the lich. He knew where to find a room with red walls inside the Citadel. He rode the elevator behind the Oratory up several floors, came outside the building to a windy parapet and crossed back indoors another five or six storeys higher. As yet, little work had been done to restore these spaces. They had been cleared of corpses and any valuable debris. Some of the most damaged areas had been roped off or shored up with timber, but the only inhabitants were roaming undead.

A level beneath were the ruined chambers where Queen Lana'thel and her Blood Princes had held court. The floor was treacherous here, pieces missing, singed or broken at the edges, crumbling into the black depths.

At the end of a hallway half-filled with rubble, Kel'Thuzad found Imuruk. He was sitting, or crouching, back crooked awkwardly, hind legs tucked haphazardly beneath himself. The faint glow of magic between his hands illuminated his face and chest, and something was piled awkwardly across his folded front legs.

"What are you doing up here?" asked Kel'Thuzad into the dusty silence, confounded by any reason the shaman might have for visiting this empty battlefield.

"I found her here," Imuruk replied, without looking up, his voice hollow.

"Found who-" Kel'Thuzad stopped short. The thing sprawled in Imuruk's lap was Earthsinger, face-down, limbs splayed out stiffly at awkward angles. Imuruk petted her wild curls with shaking hands. The lich moved closer, reached out, guiding his magic over her and then lowered his hand soberly. The Tauren woman was dead.

"What happened?" he demanded, thoughts descending grimly into the political mess this would cause for Jaina. The Taunka had only just agreed to an alliance with Icecrown and now their first ambassador lay dead inside the Citadel, with no apparent explanation.

"It won't work," Imuruk complained in a soft, sing-song tone, "I keep-" He strained to lift her up by her shoulders, but her muscles had stiffened and her corpse was large and heavy. "I keep trying to make her come back and she won't _._ "

"Imuruk,  _what happened_?" Kel'Thuzad asked again. The shaman shrugged.

"I just wanted to talk to her," he murmured, "I went to the kitchen. She wasn't there. Then the spirits whispered. She's in danger, they said. A terrible  _wrong_ , a terrible  _chain_  of wrongs, has her bound and she cannot escape." He raised his head, eyes unfocused, breath coming in little hisses. "She found something. She found a secret, they said. And they wouldn't tell me what."

"Imuruk, did you do this?" said Kel'Thuzad quietly. Imuruk jerked away in horror, dragging her with him.

"No!" he gasped, voice cracking, "My gods,  _no!_ " He stared up at Kel'Thuzad, stricken. "Someone killed her," he whimpered. All of a sudden, the reality of the situation came home to him and Kel'Thuzad recoiled as the shaman lowered his head and wailed. It was an unearthly, brittle sound, eerie and penetrating as the shriek of a locomotive's wheels, but stripped of reason and sharpened by sorrow, and as Imuruk hugged his friend and mentor, Kel'Thuzad had an unsettling sense of empathy.

"Imuruk," he reached down and touched the shaman's shoulder, "Imuruk. Bring her. I must learn what happened here and rectify it before Jaina returns. I fear her life is in danger."

" _Her_  life," said Imuruk brokenly, then jerked away from the lich's hand and snarled, mandibles flashing open for a second in threat, "No, don't touch her! Don't you dare touch her! I won't let you do anything to her." He scooted sideways, hunched possessively over the corpse.

"I won't touch her. Imuruk. I need to know what happened. Don't you?" Imuruk didn't move for several seconds, hissing under his breath as he stared up at Kel'Thuzad. "I will do nothing to her, only look."

"Okay," he said, but didn't move immediately. Kel'Thuzad waited, crushing his impatience. It would do Jaina no good if he offended her one remaining ambassador. After a minute, Imuruk climbed slowly to his feet, clutching Earthsinger's body to his chest with all four arms. "Okay," he said meekly.

There was no subtle way to carry a Tauren corpse down six or seven storeys, so Kel'Thuzad teleported himself, Imuruk and Earthsinger directly to his laboratory. Stavros gave a yelp when the Nerubian appeared and quickly scuttled to a bench at the other side of the room to continue his work, looking sheepish. The two necromancers Kel'Thuzad had sent out to gather frost lotus stood staring as the lich and the shaman gently laid Earthsinger's body on an empty table.

"Leave us," Kel'Thuzad commanded and the three Thuzadin vacated the laboratory. Imuruk moved to stand at Earthsinger's head. He settled one shaking pair of hands in her hair, absently petting her curls, staring down at her with the vacant disbelief Kel'Thuzad had seen many times in his opponents on the battlefield as they clutched ineffectually at some slain companion.

"How did she die?" Imuruk quavered. "Can you tell me that? Please?"

Kel'Thuzad felt that Imuruk, with his healer's skill, could easily determine her cause of death for himself. Grief made him useless. The lich was about to voice as much, but the memory of himself, clutching Jaina's fast-cooling body, unable to do anything for her and shouting the shaman's name in desperation, silenced him.  _He saved Jaina's life. What if he hadn't been able to?_ It might have been him staring helplessly into oblivion, willing time to reverse so plaintively it made his vision swim.  _Of course, I would have wasted no time resurrecting her, had she died._  But he knew that was a lie. Jaina would never want that, and would never forgive him if he did it.  _I owe him my King's existence._

"Yes, I can tell you," replied the lich, shaken by the tangent. Now that Earthsinger was laid out on her back, the wound was obvious, though small. Kel'Thuzad pointed to her neck, where her cinnamon fur was matted and black. "Here. Something cut her carotid artery." He folded his hands behind his back and leaned over, peering at the wound. There were actually three gashes; two had sunk into the Tauren's thick muscle, probably doing nothing but making her angry, but the third had hit it's mark. Although all shamans knew some healing magic, Earthsinger was trained primarily to manipulate the elements. If the attack had been swift, taking her by surprise, she might have been so focused on defending herself that she waited precious seconds before she tried to tend her injury. Kel'Thuzad had seen perfectly capable warriors go on fighting despite some mortal wound, either numbed by shock or too panicked to think logically. Earthsinger had died in moments.

"Imuruk, can you tell if she attempted to heal herself?"

Reluctantly, the Nerubian placed one slim palm over her throat. "No," he said. "There's no trace of magic on her."

Kel'Thuzad curled one finger under his chin in thought. That was interesting. How many people at the Citadel would be able to physically take on a full-grown Tauren in close combat? Earthsinger was on the short side for her species, but she was confident and powerfully built, owing to years of trekking across the ice alone. The lich examined her horns, having seen Tauren fighters use their natural weapons more than once during hand-to-hand matches. There wasn't a mark on her aside from the three wounds on her neck.

"Whoever attacked her meant to kill her," said Kel'Thuzad. "They were skilled enough to do it, but not so skilled to manage it on the first try." Imuruk looked up. "She didn't fight back. She was probably attacked from behind."

"But there's no reason!" he whimpered. "There's no reason..."

"What did she know? You said the spirits told you she had learned a secret."

Imuruk shook his head wearily and closed his eyes. "I don't know," he said. "She came to me this morning with scraps for Dreilide-"

"Dreilide?"

"Yes. She usually feeds him-"

"I know that. Imuruk, we pulled a piece of Frostmourne out of that dog last week. That can't be a coincidence. Come on," said Kel'Thuzad, sweeping toward the door. Imuruk balked.

"Earthsinger-"

"I will have the Thuzadin guard her. Come."

Imuruk wouldn't leave until the Thuzadin had arrived to secure the room, and then paused outside the door as Kel'Thuzad placed a ward on it for further insurance.

"You should tell Lady Jaina," said Imuruk, his voice soft and calm. Kel'Thuzad glanced at him. He had all four arms folded, each hand loosely holding the hilt of his dagger-like totems, sheathed in his vambraces. His eyes were closed. "She needs to know as soon as possible. Tell her about Frostmourne, and about Earthsinger."

"Perhaps you should stay with Earthsinger," Kel'Thuzad suggested. Grief did odd things to people and Imuruk's sudden serenity worried him. "Her people observe a vigil for the dead, do they not?"

"Yes," replied Imuruk, "But I am not one of her people." He straightened up. His eyes opened. "My people believe in vengeance," he whispered.


	17. Nightmares

Jaina woke from a dream she couldn't remember. The room was dark and quiet, and she lay in the stillness, listening to the lace curtains stir gently against the windowsill. Something in the dream had been important, or at least important in the context of the dream. A voice, or a word... She couldn't remember. Jaina wriggled over onto her side, turning to appraise the dull silver light of pre-dawn that seemed hours too early.

After a few minutes consideration, she stretched and swung her legs over the edge of the bed. Even with the window open slightly, the air was mild. She didn't bother with a robe and padded barefoot to the small but thoroughly appointed en suite washroom.

She wasn't expected anywhere for another two hours and the polished porcelain bath-tub was too tempting to deny. Jaina turned on the taps, slipping out of her night gown as the bath filled. She paused, naked before the mirror, and wiped the gathering steam off the glass to look at herself. Her skin was no longer so unnaturally white, though she was still far more pale than anyone else in Stormwind. Her hair too had regained some colour at the roots.

Inexorably, her fingers drifted down her stomach. There was a very pale, vaguely star-shaped scar above the point of her right hip, all that was left of the near-fatal wound she had sustained months before. She explored it with her fingertips; it was perfectly smooth, practically invisible. The sight of her old injury triggered a fleeting instant of recognition; something about the scar and its origin had been in her forgotten dream. No, that wasn't quite right. Something equally urgent and permanent had been in her dream. A crossroads or a threshold bordering two very different futures- black and white, life and death- had loomed before her, just as it had that afternoon in the snow.

She glimpsed it for a brief moment, heart-suddenly hammering with remembered panic, then lost the meaning of the dream as she tried to focus on it.  _I suppose if it's important, I'll remember it eventually,_ she thought to herself and turned from the mirror. Jaina slithered down into the warm, soapy water until it came up to her chin and sighed contentedly. She closed her eyes and leaned back against the tiled wall.

_Jaina!_

Jaina jumped, startled by the intrusion of Kel'Thuzad's voice. Until now, when they needed to contact each other through the telepathic link, they would query and then wait for the other party to accept their invitation. It seemed only polite. The lich had plowed into her mind completely uninvited.

**What!**  she snapped, sitting up straight in the tub, frowning. His reply was only partially verbal and filled with urgency.  **Slow down!**  She hissed, wincing at the chaos of images and the unconscious transmission of his emotional response to each situation.  **Murdered?**  Jaina put a hand over her mouth in shock.  **Where is Imuruk?** **Perhaps Earthsinger was only in the wrong place at the wrong time, but I find it very possible that murdering an ambassador to my kingdom was intentional.**

_He's here with me,_  Kel'Thuzad reassured her, and there was a brief glimpse of the shaman from an unfamiliar high angle, partially obscured by the edge of Kel'Thuzad's epaulet.  _I think you should come home, my King. Someone is clearly taking advantage of your absence._

**I will return with all haste,**  she replied.  **Do what you can to discover who is behind this, and keep me updated. I will see what I can discover about the shards of Frostmourne.**

_Yes, my King._

The connection fell silent. Jaina blew out a long breath, disturbing the heap of bubbles on the surface of the water.

"Just once," she murmured to the bathwater, "I'd like to have a perfectly uninteresting week."

There was a muffled knock at the door to her room. Jaina scrambled out of the bath, wrapping a thick towel around herself, and tip-toed to the door.

"It's Samina," said the knocker before Jaina could inquire. She opened the door and the errant princess of Lordaeron strode in, politely ignoring Jaina's fuzzy apparel and dripping hair. "Word is, there's some sort of upset in Ironforge. It might be best to stay your visit for another time."

"What sort of upset?" asked Jaina.

"I'm not fully appraised of the situation," said Samina, "I only know it has something to do with King Magni, and the Dark Iron dwarves. Something internal."

"You're sure?" said Jaina worriedly.

"I won't be sure until I have more information. Why? Do you suspect something else?"

Jaina relayed Kel'Thuzad's urgent communication while she retrieved a second towel and rubbed her hair into semi-dryness. The rogue raised one eyebrow when she had finished the tale.

"What I wouldn't give for such instant communication," Samina said. "Though I would find myself rather uncomfortable if my agents contacted me in the bath. What is your intention now?"

Jaina straightened up, shaking her wet hair back over her shoulders. "I  _want_  to go back to the Citadel, but since these things have happened in my absence, I suspect whoever is responsible will only continue to act if I'm not around."

"A bit dangerous," said Samina skeptically, "don't you think?"

"Yes," said Jaina, "but perhaps the perpetrator's unfortunate success with Earthsinger's assassination will make them careless. I trust Kel'Thuzad can hold his own if it comes to a direct conflict." She selected a robe in Dalaran colours, slippers, and underthings, and ducked behind the dressing screen.

"Kel'Thuzad can, but what of the others at Icecrown?" countered Samina. Jaina wondered if the spymaster was worried about her agent, Kagra. "Without you present, he's the next biggest threat, but whoever your problem is, they never confronted you or Kel'Thuzad. They killed your ambassador."

"It's a gamble I don't like making." She emerged from the dressing corner, tugging at her sleeves. "I must pay Tirion Fordring a visit at Light's Hope and I could use your help."

* * *

Kel'Thuzad paced the length of the corridor outside his lab, from the foot of the stairs, to the corner, and back. Imuruk remained by the door, watching.

"What do we know so far?" said the lich, going over their list of clues. "Earthsinger was murdered in the Blood Queen's suites. What would draw her there? What could she have known? Dreilide had a piece of Frostmourne in him, but was otherwise unharmed. Who put it there?"

Imuruk shook his head slowly. "I don't know."

Kel'Thuzad stopped and abruptly turned to face the Nerubian. "You. You knew what I was, while I was inhabiting the form of Kazimir Frostblood. How could you tell?"

"The spirits knew," Imuruk replied, "The magic was transparent to them. They could see who you really were."

"And they told you. I see. When you blackmailed me-"

"It wasn't blackmail."

"Yes, it was. You could at least be proud of it. When you blackmailed me, you did something to ensure that  _other_  shamans wouldn't be able to see me-"

"I suppressed the spirits' voices in your presence. It's why I was always following you around."

"Hm. I thought you liked me." Kel'Thuzad tapped his teeth with one fingertip. "So Earthsinger never recognized who I was until I regained this form."

Again, Imuruk shook his head. "She never knew. Earthsinger's specialty wasn't listening to the spirits. They speak louder for some than for others. For me, they are undeniable." The shaman looked away. "Earthsinger understood the elements better."

"And would the elements have given me away?"

"The elements themselves are inanimate, Kel'Thuzad. Elementals associated with them can think and feel, but they are timeless and we- well, some of us- are mortal. Our lives are so brief we're like flashes of lightning to the elementals. They aren't usually concerned with mortal affairs because our affairs are so small as to be meaningless."

Kel'Thuzad resumed pacing, frustrated by their lack of answers. "Could Earthsinger have learned something from the elements that would- no, it makes no sense. The Blood Queen was no shaman. She had nothing to do with the elements. There would be no reason for Earthsinger to be in her suite."

Imuruk raised one hand. "Perhaps that was just coincidence," he suggested. "Perhaps whoever m-murdered her meant to all along and simply found an empty place to do it."

Kel'Thuzad smiled an unseen smile. "Parsimony in all things," he murmured. "That does makes more sense. The location means nothing. So, we come back round to who would want Earthsinger dead."

"The Vrykul?" said Imuruk, obviously reaching. "They tried to end Jaina's rule directly. Perhaps now they're trying indirectly. There are a handful of Val'kyr at Icecrown who claim loyalty to Jaina but who knows." He lowered his face into his upper set of hands and sighed. "Why would anyone want her dead?"

"It seems logical. Though how would one of the Val'kyr gain a shard of Frostmourne? And I cannot imagine one of them trying to cram it inside Dreilide's neck and  _failing_."

"What if they didn't fail, though?" said Imuruk, looking up at the lich. "What if... what if when we found him, he had somehow managed to scratch the wound open and you removed a piece that had been in him for- for weeks, or months?"

Kel'Thuzad paused, motionless. "Whoever did it  _knew_  that Dreilide follows Jaina everywhere."

"She's had him since- when?"

"She's had him since, well, since she's had me. He came to her in the very same skirmish."

They looked at each other. "Did you do this?" asked Imuruk softly, every word hissing with malice.

Kel'Thuzad snarled down at him, incensed. "You  _dare?_ "

"You asked me if I killed Earthsinger!" said Imuruk reproachfully, not intimidated in the slightest. The lich settled with a growl and pointedly looked away.

"So, what if Dreilide had the shard in him when he came to Jaina in that battle?" said Kel'Thuzad.

"Who commands the plague hounds?" asked Imuruk.

"No one, really. Any of the Scourge with enough intelligence and will. The Val'kyr could do it, but if Dreilide had the shard in him for  _that_  long..." The lich shook his head, frustrated.

"Between our individual expertise, we should be able to figure out how old that wound in his neck is," pressed Imuruk. "Let's start with that." Kel'Thuzad spent a long minute considering and came up with nothing else more promising.

They ascended to the kitchen, where the plague hound could invariably be located. Kel'Thuzad found himself watching Imuruk. The Nerubian was quiet and alert, moving with a surety of purpose that Kel'Thuzad had never witnessed before in the cheerful man. His focus and determination were as close to blood-thirsty as Imuruk would probably ever get. Kel'Thuzad found there was something tragic, not triumphant, in seeing such a change.

"Can you hear her?" asked the lich suddenly. Imuruk didn't look over, but one hand closed into a fist.

"No," he replied. "She has no reason to linger here as a spirit."

"Where do they go when they leave?"

Imuruk shrugged. "Earthsinger probably went into the ice, became the energy in the bonds between crystals, or some such. I don't know why some go and some stay, or where they go when they do." He cocked his head. "But you would know. You were dead; really, truly dead, once. What happened to you?"

Kel'Thuzad pushed the door the kitchen open. Dreilide looked up, tail thumping hesitantly against the stone floor. "I didn't go anywhere," he replied, "I was tethered here by the Lich King's will. Come here dog." Dreilide didn't disobey, but he moved grudgingly.

Imuruk patted the plague hound between his leathery ears, one pair of hands searching the bunched mass of tissue at the base of Dreilide's throat where Kel'Thuzad had closed his wound. "He... well, that's interesting."

"What is?"

"He's undead, so the wound has never really  _healed_  in the sense I am familiar with."

"And?"

"And it's like... a scar within the scar."

"What do you mean? Let me see." Dreilide whined as the lich leaned over and spread his taloned hand across the dog's chest. "You're right. There's an original wound, closed then opened, then the work that I did. Someone trained in  _necromancy_  did this. Someone  _did_  put the shard inside him and sealed the wound using a method almost identical to my own."

"Who else has those skills?"

"Darion Mograine. His Death Knights. Some of the Vrykul sorceresses."

"Could Kagra Strangleheart do this?"

"I doubt it. Why?"

"Earthsinger was stabbed from behind," growled Imuruk. "Kagra is strong enough and skilled enough to have killed her. Kagra is a Death Knight."

"Kagra works for SI:7," said Kel'Thuzad.  _And not just anyone in SI:7. Kagra works for Calia Menethil._  Kel'Thuzad had no opinion of Arthas' sister, though it was interesting. If Kagra had killed Earthsinger and put the shard in Dreilide on Calia's order, what possible goal could the errant princess have for undermining Jaina's rule?  _Jaina believed Calia's stated goals were sincere; I have no reason to disagree. Then does Kagra work for herself, double-crossing Calia? I don't believe Kagra has the imagination for something this intricate._

"No, it doesn't make sense," said Imuruk, echoing the lich's train of thought. "Kagra had no reason to murder Earthsinger. It must be someone else, someone we haven't considered, someone new."

"Or perhaps," said Kel'Thuzad slowly, a terrible thought dawning on him as he looked down at Dreilide, "It's someone that we see everyday, someone so inconsequential we would never consider them a threat. Someone with necromantic knowledge and the ability to hide in plain sight, just like I was." He straightened up and hurried for the door. "Back to my lab. I need to read something very thoroughly."

* * *

Spring in the Plaguelands looked little different from any other season. The grass was brown and brittle, moved by a listless wind. Jaina blinked; the air itself felt abrasive against her skin and eyes. Beside her, Samina coughed. She said nothing, but Jaina sensed the other woman's tension. This was her homeland, transformed, corrupted.

"Why here?" said Samina into the lifeless silence. "Your portal took us this far. Why not directly to Light's Hope?" They were on a small hill, south of the dusty road, looking east toward the bright white walls of the chapel. Jaina squinted into the rising sun.

"The night I became the Lich King," Jaina began, "I was unsteady on my feet and Tirion tried to hold me up. His touch hurt me. I think it was some clash between the Light and the Lich King's magic. Months later, I was able to shake his hand without pain and assumed it was because I had gained some control over the Lich King's abilities." She cleared her throat. "But Tirion is just one man. Light's Hope is a profoundly holy place. It repelled invasion by Kel'Thuzad and by Arthas; I don't know what it might do to me."

"That's a fair judgment."

The paladins of the Argent Dawn could see the two women approaching long before they arrived. As Jaina and Samina rounded the bend in the road, four fully armoured knights exited the chapel and took up positions beside the door. By the time they had reached the footpath that split off from the main road, there were twelve paladins outside watching them.

Jaina stopped. There was no physical marker to delineate the limit of Light's Hope but she could feel  _something_. It wasn't threatening or painful; it was merely a sort of pressure, a sense of resistance or friction that grated against the Lich King's will. She let her eyes lose focus. There were ley lines here, surging invisible channels of magic, neither good nor evil, but tempered by the vehement belief of the paladins within the chapel. Part of her was accepted by this place, welcomed even, but she dared go no further.

The paladins glanced amongst themselves restlessly, hands resting on sword hilts. Samina marched up the path towards them, all business.

"Good morning gentlemen. My associate wishes to speak with Highlord Fordring. Is he available?" One of the paladins moved forward, looking her up and down.

"Your associate is not welcome here," he said. The threat in his voice was immediate. "You should both leave. Now."

"Your lordship, I beg entry to this holy place for myself. I can understand your misgivings about her," said Samina, jerking a thumb over her shoulder. "I haven't burst into flames or disintegrated. The power here doesn't seem to have a problem with me. So, may  _I_  speak to the Highlord?"

The paladins exchanged glances and the man who had spoken first cleared his throat. "All right.  _She_  stays on the path."

"I don't think she can come any closer." One of the guards abandoned his wary vigil to accompany Samina inside.

The chapel was lit with morning sun fractured into rainbow freckles across the stone floor. Samina gazed about the high wooden walls and intricate stained-glass panes, and felt a sort of peace suffuse her.

"Highlord," said the paladin reverently, "there is a woman here to speak with you."

The pew creaked as Tirion Fordring turned around. He was clad in armour, praying with his hands folded over the pommel of a naked blade, a frown worn into his features. He did not recognize Samina, but rose and offered his hand.

"My name is Samina Sugarhill," she supplied gracefully, sparing the paladin who had escorted her the embarrassment of trying to introduce someone whose name he had been too rude to acquire. "I work with SI:7, but at the moment I'm here on behalf of Lady Jaina Proudmoore. She wishes to speak with you about a matter of importance."

"Ah," said Tirion and withdrew his hand from her grip, "Lady Proudmoore. You may tell her that I will make arrangements for a meeting."

"She's outside on the path waiting for you, Highlord," interuppted Samina. "She wants to speak with you immediately."

"On the path? Outside Light's Hope?" The Highlord marched to the doors of the chapel and paused, squinting through the glass. "By the Light. How is that possible?" he murmured. Samina didn't volunteer an answer. Fordring turned to her, heavy brows knit in consternation. "How can she be here?"

"She made us a portal, then we walked the rest of the way," answered Samina, knowing the logistics of their arrival were not what concerned the Highlord. "Jaina needs your help," she pressed.

Tirion's frown deepened. "Jaina has denied my help for weeks. She called it  _interference_."

Samina made no reply but she straightened her back and raised her chin just a fraction. Neither of the Menethil children had been lacking in stature and what had been lordly and imposing in Arthas was equally daunting in his sister. Tirion could not look down on her unless he was on horseback.

"Lady Jaina requests your aid," Samina said again. Tirion stirred himself at the window.

"Perhaps she has come to her senses at last." He sighed. "Yes, I will go to her. Tell her to meet me up the hill there. The tree stumps will afford us a place to sit."

Samina took the news down the path to Jaina.

"Does the chapel repel you?" she asked quietly as they moved to Fordring's preferred meeting place. The cadre of watchful paladins had multiplied during Samina's absence.

"I feel only a warning, but I don't want to test its limits."

"You won't have to. Here he comes."

"Lady Jaina," Tirion greeted her. Two of his paladins stood at his back, helms on, hands resting blatantly on their blades. Jaina seated herself on one of the broad tree-stumps and daintily rearranged her skirts. "Why have you come here?" asked the Highlord. "This is not a place that remembers your title well."

"The title of Lady or the title of King?" said Jaina. "I think it is your Order that does not remember my title well, Highlord, not this place. I came here to ask a question, and to extend a warning. I did not come seeking antagonism."

Tirion's mustache twitched. He sat down across from her, awkward in full armour. "Let us set aside this discussion for another time. What is your warning?"

"Kel'Thuzad found a shard of Frostmourne inside Dreilide's chest. It appears to have been placed there, shoved into him some time ago, possibly since I acquired him." She paused. "I fear that someone stole the shard from your collection, Tirion. You may have a traitor in the ranks of the Argent Dawn."

"No, I don't."

"Kel'Thuzad tells me he had a spy embedded once before, a woman who took her own life when you tried to question her."

The paladin's eyes flashed. "That is true. But it is not the case this time."

Jaina cocked her head, confused. "Were you aware that one of the shards had gone missing, then?"

"It isn't missing," said Tirion and straightened up, meeting her eyes for the first time. "It was freely given."

Jaina felt her breath catch in her throat and momentarily struggled to draw air into her lungs. "' _F_ - _freely given_ '?"

"I gave the shard to your speaking ghoul, Talsen, the night after you became the Lich King," he said. "He was a High Elven priest once; your succession undid his mindlessness. He came to me, begging for a way to serve the Light once more. His appearance was revolting, but his words were sincere. I could not deny his wish."

"The night after-? But the shard- why would you give him the shard?" she said and couldn't keep the pitch of betrayal out of her voice. The Highlord stood and reached out but she leaned away from him. "You know what Frostmourne did to Arthas! Why would you let even a scrap of that power near me?"

"Jaina," he said, "Talsen had devised a resonance test, a way to gauge your... moral character against the residual magic of the shard." Jaina swallowed around the lump in her throat, fighting to keep her composure and her temper in check. She got to her feet, feeling suddenly tiny and overwhelmed. "It was a splinter, Jaina, nothing more. It was not enough to harm you."

"No, just enough to  _judge_  me."

"I could not have my eyes on you at all times," he said.

"Nor should you." Jaina stalked forward, retaking the ground she had ceded when Tirion attempted to touch her. "I have always trusted and respected you, Tirion, but for all your words of support and encouragement-" She paused, one fist clenched at her side, trembling imperceptibly. "You always believed I would  _fail_ , didn't you?"

The paladins behind Tirion shifted, fingers clutching restlessly at the hilts of their swords.

"I didn't want to," said Tirion. "I tried to encourage you. I wanted to believe you would triumph; I want  _you_ to belive it. But Jaina, with every attempt you've made to balance the power you hold, you have repeatedly stepped away from the Light. I've watched it happen. Talsen has reported it as well. It isn't a judgment of your ability or character, it is simply an inevitable fact that the Lich King's magic will claim you."

"No, Tirion, it won't. It isn't inevitable. I made a choice- an uninformed, unconscious choice- when I took on this power, but still a choice."

"Yes, and many other poorly informed choices afterward," he continued, "You always walked a fine line between your duty and your heart in Theramore. I respected that, many of us did. But you  _cannot_ , you _must not_ , attempt the same in Northrend. It is vital that you maintain moral superiority now more than ever. For the sake of Azeroth, your character must be unimpeachable."

Jaina leaned back in disbelief. "Unimpeachable?" she said.

"I would not want you to regret your current actions."

Jaina said nothing. She stared at Tirion, too shocked for tears, and felt an emptiness open within her.

"Let me help you Jaina, please."

"No," she said, and turned away. "I have my answer. Thank you Tirion, for your honesty. Come Samina. I must return to Icecrown." She held up one hand and without bothering to gesture, she opened a portal on the stricken landscape. The rogue wordlessly entered without a backward look, but Jaina stopped and turned, pale blue eyes raised to the paladin's. The cool glow within was obscured by a sheen of unshed tears. "Goodbye."

* * *

"Fordring!" spat Kel'Thuzad and hurled a frostbolt down the corridor. The missile shattered loudly against the far wall and Imuruk jumped, startled momentarily out of his misery by the malice in the lich's voice. Dreilide cowered underneath the shaman with a whimper.

"What? What did he do?"

"Tirion bloody Fordring!" snarled Kel'Thuzad. "He  _gave_  the shard away! Intentionally! Festering  _idiot_!"

"Gave it to whom?" asked Imuruk. Kel'Thuzad unlocked the door to his lab.

"Talsen, oddly enough."

"Someone inconsequential who can hide in plain sight," said the shaman.

"A fallen priest of the Light," scoffed Kel'Thuzad. "If I reach him before Jaina does, make up an alibi for me."

"Don't kill him just because he made a deal with the Highlord," said Imuruk, trotting after his companion into the laboratory.

"I should have known something was off about him when he spoke to me. Ghouls aren't supposed to talk."

"I thought Jaina fixed him."

"No, he talked before that. I should have noticed that tell-tale aura of sanctimonious self-pity too but maybe undeath cures some of it. Traitorous little cretin! Ah, there." The lich retrieved a ragged book from the shelf and ushered Imuruk back into the hall. "First, I'll deal with Talsen. Then we-"

"Wait, wait. Kel'Thuzad." The lich turned abruptly and Imuruk back-pedaled to avoid running into him. "Don't kill him- he just wanted to help Lady Jaina. Yes, he didn't do a very good job of it but his intentions were true, weren't they?"

"I don't care about his intentions, Imuruk. Talsen misrepresented himself to Lady Jaina. She thought he was loyal. How can he be loyal to the Scourge if he is allowing himself to be used by Tirion Fordring? No, the ghoul will be punished." The lich shouldered past Imuruk and headed down the corridor.

"Lady Jaina wouldn't kill him in retaliation."

"Then it's a good thing she keeps me around."

"That's not what I meant!" They entered the grand foyer of the Citadel.

"Lady Jaina is often too merciful for her own well-being."

The eerie magenta glow of a portal swam in fluid highlights across the roof and floor. Beside the portal, looking bewildered, stood a tall, dark-haired woman. She took a hesitant step backward when she spied them.

"Samina, I presume," said Kel'Thuzad without pausing as he prowled across the hall. Imuruk approached the rogue, bowed, and offered his hand.

"Ambassador," she said, shaking his taloned paw carefully.

"Where is Lady Jaina?" asked the lich, glaring around the foyer.

"She went to find Talsen and arrest him," replied Samina. "She bid me watch the portal until it closed."

Kel'Thuzad waved his hand and the portal disappeared. "Arrest him? For being the paladin's tool? That should make their next meeting more interesting."

"No," said Samina, "for killing the Taunka ambassador."

Imuruk and Kel'Thuzad glanced at each other in surprise.

"Talsen's only a ghoul. He isn't capable of killing Earthsinger," Imuruk said, but there was a tremor of uncertainty in his tone. "And- and a priest of the Light would have no reason to do so."

"No," said Kel'Thuzad, "he wouldn't." He turned to Samina and she fought the urge to shrink from his predatory crimson gaze. "Did my King say why she was so convinced in the matter and manner of his guilt?"

"No," whispered Samina in reply, "my lord. She said nothing to you?"

Kel'Thuzad ignored her inquiry. "Stay here with the rogue," he ordered, pointing at Imuruk and whisked away before the Nerubian could argue. Samina shivered. Jaina's casual way of referring to the lich had woefully under-prepared her for his actual presence.

"I'm a coward," Imuruk said suddenly.

"I don't blame you," muttered Samina, giving herself an involuntary hug.

"I should have argued with Kel'Thuzad," lamented Imuruk. "If Jaina reaches Talsen first, she'll arrest him. If Kel'Thuzad reaches him first and deems him guilty, he'll steal my chance to avenge Earthsinger."

Samina had never set eyes on a Nerubian before; she had only heard tales of Imuruk's people. Although he had some features that reminded her of a grotesquely over-sized cockroach and too many legs that bent at strange angles, his demeanor was as easy to interpret as a human being. She shrugged in response, unsure what to say.

"I'm sorry. My problems are not yours," he said apologetically.

"Kel'Thuzad intimidates the hell out of me too," she said in a low voice. "Besides, would your friend really want you to kill someone in her name?"

Imuruk considered the question for a moment. "Her people believe in blood for blood, as mine do. She would not expect it, but she would be proud."

"Well, Kel'Thuzad wouldn't dare disobey his King in her own Citadel, would he?"

"There's a precedent," Imuruk grumbled.

Samina sniffed and shook her head. "I would never put up with that kind of insubordination."

"Sometimes I wonder if it  _is_ insubordination," Imuruk said. "Jaina is a kind person but she isn't stupid; sometimes the only decisive way to deal with your enemies is to be rid of them permanently. Kel'Thuzad is very good at it, and a very useful scapegoat." Imuruk shook his head. "It's all politics." Dreilide, who had been lying quietly beside Imuruk, suddenly perked his tattered ears toward a darkened corridor. He snuffed the air, then trotted stiffly forward into the darkness. Samina watched him leave.

"Not politics," said Samina thoughtfully, "Kel'Thuzad is a poor political ally, and Jaina is otherwise very concerned with her appearance on the political stage."

"Lady Jaina needed someone to teach her necromancy, and who better?"

"He could teach while chained up in a cell, if Jaina was smart about it. He doesn't need more freedom than that."

"She needs a lieutenant and he is competent among the Scourge. And I think she enjoys his intelligence."

"Hm," said Samina.

"They're both gifted mages. I imagine it's hard finding someone of the same caliber to talk with. They even attended the same academy of magic."

"That's true."

"You seem unconvinced. Do you suspect Kel'Thuzad of some deception?" said Imuruk worriedly.

"From what I know of the man, it would be foolish  _not_  to suspect him." She folded her arms and gazed around the cavernous entry way, pondering the shadows. "She's all alone here. The only man she ever loved is dead, and the only person who can truly share this whole experience with her is Kel'Thuzad. It's little wonder she's developed some tender emotions for him."

Imuruk blinked several times. "Oh no, no. That isn't how it is at all."

"Well, it bears watching," said Samina non-commitally. "Where do you suppose the dog went off to?"

"I've been here six months," said Imuruk, one pair of arms folded across his chest. "Kel'Thuzad is devoted to his King, and Jaina is, at the very most, perhaps too forgiving of his eccentricities. I find your suggestion entirely improper."

"It was an  _observation_ , Ambassador, not a suggestion. What's the dog's name?" she asked and walked cautiously toward the corridor where the plague hound had disappeared.

"Dreilide. And don't you find it difficult to observe anything when you've never been here before?"

"Dreilide!" Samina called in a whisper. She squinted into the blackness, fingers slowly rising to grip the hilt of one dagger, then turned back to Imuruk, her voice lowered. "I don't like this."

"Like what? He's a dog. He does what he wants-"

Dreilide trotted out of the shadows, attention keenly focused over his shoulder on something down the black corridor. His his tail was tucked between his legs.

"Come here Dreilide." Samina patted her hip with a gloved hand. The dog responded obediently despite the fact she was not part of the Scourge. "Imuruk," she muttered under her breath, "there's someone- or something- down there. Just there- see? At the corner. The torches are out before and behind them." She took a step back. "I don't like this. Ambassador, we should go somewhere secure until Jaina finds Talsen."

"He's just a ghoul."

"That may be so, but Jaina was convinced that he was to blame for your friend's death. If he was, then he must have some skills you aren't aware of. I feel your life may be in danger too."

Imuruk hesitated, squinting at the motionless figure, too distant and too dark to be recognizable. "I- I think I agree with you," he said and joined Samina's careful retreat. "Kel'Thuzad wanted something from his lab," he remembered suddenly. "He left it open. We could go there. It has locks and wards I can probably close."

"What did he want? A weapon?"

"He wanted a book. I don't know why. And I've never seen him use a weapon but that doesn't mean he doesn't have one in there that  _we_  could use." They crept swiftly back through the Citadel, Samina keeping her eyes on the lurking shadow. It moved sluggishly after them, always taking care to shroud itself in darkness, the blue-flamed torches sputtering and dying before it as it advanced.

"I'm no mage and you're no necromancer. If Kel'Thuzad has wards on this room, how do you plan to use them?" whispered Samina as the creature continued to stalk them.

"I'll figure something out!" hissed Imuruk, irritable.

"Not good enough. Keeping you safe is more important than fighting. I feel that Jaina and Kel'Thuzad are more than capable of handling this combat. Is there somewhere else we can hide that  _thing_  won't be able to follow?"

"Yes," said Imuruk, and headed for the Oratory.

* * *

Jaina could find Talsen with trifling mental effort, but at the moment she stood instead on one of the Citadel's lower balconies, looking south-east towards the distant, glowing haze of Dalaran. Did her peers there-  _former_ peers- believe as Tirion Fordring did, in her eventual failure?  _They probably think I failed already, mixing my training with the Lich King's magic, and Kel'Thuzad's knowledge of necromancy._

Jaina didn't feel as though she had failed. She was in control of her own mind, her own actions. She made decisions based on needs beyond her own. These were things she had always done, little different than her rule in Theramore.

She watched a gargoyle flap gracelessly from one sentry point to the next below her and frowned. At first she couldn't even bear to look at the Scourge, much less interact with them. Now, Dreilide slept on the foot of her bed like a favoured hunting dog every night. Tirion had accused her of stepping away from the Light to strike a balance in her life, but had she? The Scourge were largely tools of their master and Jaina wanted nothing from them but peace, not blood or domination or suffering.

She straightened up, preparing to track down Talsen, and paused. Something in her train of thought echoed dully against the morning's forgotten dream.  _Blood,_ she half-remembered.  _Not the substance, just the word. Something about blood..._   _Kel'Thuzad said they found Earthsinger in the Blood Queen's chambers._  Jaina set off at a brisk walk.

But now that she had a corner of the memory, the rest began to reveal itself. There had been something dire in that dream, something urgent and true and although she couldn't remember the specifics, adrenaline surged through Jaina in response. Something in the dream was  _terribly_  important. Jaina broke into a trot and reached the Blood Queen's shattered suites out of breath.

"What was it?" she whispered to herself. She paced what remained of the rooms impatiently, hoping for some detail to trigger further information. "Blood... blood is... blood is  _enough_?" She stopped abruptly.

_The blood of one is enough._  The phrase boomed in her head like drums.  _The blood of one is enough. The will of one is enough. The voice of one is enough. The strength of one is enough._ Jaina closed her eyes.  _The will of one is enough. The will of one is enough. The blood of one is enough..._

And suddenly she remembered and spiraled into a nightmare. A voice that was neither male nor female nor even audible repeated the words endlessly.  _The blood of one is enough. The will of one is enough. The will of one is enough._  Jaina was suspended in a realm of absolute malice, a formless, meaningless cruelty with no source and no goal. It laughed at her values, derided her attempts to be fair and kind, went through her memories and her hopes and most secret emotions and dismissed them all with callous mockery. Jaina remembered trying to pull away in her dream, trying to wake, and failing.

In this nightmare world, everything she did to escape turned back upon her in the most hideous fashion. She found herself in a gladiator's ring, naked and weaponless before a jeering crowd, ignored them and called on her magic, only to discover she had none. She was seated on the Frozen Throne, dressed in heavy armour, but she was Arthas' plaything, devoid of will or reason. She was a girl in Kul Tiras, watching her father be skinned alive and eaten by invading Orcs. She was shackled to an iron ring, for sale. She plead for her life, for her freedom, for her dignity and had her tongue cut out. She shed tears and the nightmare drank them.

_The will of one is enough. The blood of one is enough._  Jaina sank into a crouch, grimacing as she remembered.  _The voice of one is enough. The strength of one is enough. The blood of one..._  Before the horror of her dream consumed her, an invisible force pushed it back and Jaina realized she had been experiencing a possibility, not a reality. Between her and it existed something vaguely familiar, a sense of presence, a smell of coffee, a silhouette of horns.

_The blood of one is enough. The blood of one is enough. The blood of one is enough._

"What are you showing me?"

_Talsen isn't Talsen._

Jaina's eyes snapped open. Her heart was racing. Her throat was dry and her hands were shaking.

"Talsen isn't Talsen," she said and swallowed. "Whose blood is enough?" She stood and hobbled out of the Blood Queen's chambers. In the darkness of the corridor, she closed her eyes, set her shoulders and took deep breaths. "Gods, what an awful dream."

"Jaina?"

She turned to find Kel'Thuzad approaching her.

"My King, we have a problem. I don't think Talsen is what he appears to be." Jaina blinked rapidly several times and daintily rubbed her hands over her eyes.

"I agree," she said briskly, "He told Tirion that he would use the shard of Frostmourne to construct a  _resonance test_  against my morality." The dream faded. The meaning remained.

Kel'Thuzad made a derisive hiss. "Resonance testing was proven ineffective about a year ago- a hoax. Doesn't the paladin read?"

Jaina turned away from the rain, frowning. "Tirion has been fighting a war. I doubt he had time to keep up with research journals. But any  _real_  priest of the Light would know resonance testing was disproven because it was their own research that settled the matter. I don't know what he is, but Talsen tricked us and he tricked the Highlord. He knows very little of the Light."  _And far too much of malice._

"He seems to know enough of other magic to disguise himself quite fully to all of us. And, if we are to assume he is responsible for Earthsinger's murder, he has also studied some physical combat."

"What worries me most is what he hoped to accomplish with the piece of Frostmourne." She looked up. "What would  _you_  do?"

Kel'Thuzad considered for a moment. "It depends. If I wanted to use it to... affect some change to your disposition, I might employ it as a focus for a more elaborate spell. I wouldn't bury it in an animal. Hiding it somewhere in the Citadel would be effective enough."

"But if you did, if you put the shard into Dreilide, what purpose could that serve?"

The lich tapped his teeth with one fingertip. "Since you acquired him, how frequently does he accompany you? Give me a percentage of your day."

"I don't know. Sometimes I don't see him until I go to sleep. But... He's slept in my chamber every night since I found him! Kel'Thuzad, I've had nightmares and- and strange dreams for months." She paused and ran a hand through her hair, "But Dreilide was here in Icecrown this morning while I was in Stormwind."

"Is that important?"

"I dreamed- or I thought it was a dream- something important this morning. Dreilide wasn't anywhere near me."

"Have you had prophetic dreams in the past?"

"No, never," said Jaina. "It wasn't like that."

"Good." He retreated back indoors. Jaina followed.

"Don't be cryptic. What are you thinking?"

Kel'Thuzad folded his arms across his chest. "If I had placed the shard in Dreilide, I would plan to use it as a scrying tool, not a focus. I would use it to gather information about your movements and listen in on your plans. If that's what Talsen has done, then he got much more than he intended because you were never trained to shield your mind and the dog sleeps in your chamber. He would have access to your thoughts and memories while you slept. You might interpret that uninvited observation as a nightmare."

Jaina chewed her lip. "I was never taught anything about psychic shields," she said defensively.

"What I know of that magic, I didn't learn in Dalaran."

"Where, then?"

"The Book of Medivh."

"Medivh," breathed Jaina, recalling the feather-cloaked madman who had appeared once before her on a nameless road. "Medivh, Guardian of Tirisfal, the prophet who was possessed by the spirit of Sargeras." Jaina hastily pulled the cloak around herself. "I need to find Talsen immediately." Her eyes narrowed and her gaze unfocused as she let her will pick through the inhabitants of the Citadel, searching for the ghoul.

Kel'Thuzad presented a tattered leatherbound notebook. "The spell I wore to disguise myself as Kazimir Frostblood came from a body of work produced in the Scholomance, based on interpretations from the Book of Medivh. I believe Talsen might be using something similar. Here," he said, smoothing the pages open. "This is the spell. It's an archaic form of necromancy, derived from demonic origins without the Orcish influence. Medivh thought he dreamed these things."  _The poor man. I wonder what else he dreamed._

Jaina scanned the lines. She would need time to absorb the meaning behind the mechanics of the spell, but she recognized the power within it, and the strength necessary to cast it. "How many of the Thuzadin did you need for this?" she asked quietly.

"Ten."

She was silent, eyes flickering over the lines. She flipped the page. "These look like variations. This one, the second, was the version that you used?"

"Yes."

"Kel'Thuzad, it took  _ten_  necromancers to enact this on you. What  _is_  Talsen?"

The lich shook his head. "Not a ghoul."

She bit her lip. "Only one way to find out. He's in the Oratory." She seized Kel'Thuzad's wrist and then they were at the edge of the Nerubian's tunnel. The metal gates were closed and the guards were absent.

Leaning over the latch was a gaunt, yellow-haired ghoul in red rags. He straightened up when Jaina and Kel'Thuzad arrived.

"Whatever your plan was, it hasn't worked very well," said Kel'Thuzad as the ghoul turned to face them. Jaina said nothing.  _Talsen isn't Talsen._

"You never truly grasped the scope of my plans," said Talsen dismissively. His voice was sharper, deeper than either of them remembered and out of the corner of his eye, Kel'Thuzad saw Jaina's expression go suddenly blank.

"It was  _you_  in my dream," she whispered. "Your- your  _mind_! The dreamworld and the spirit-world somehow united-"

"Life and death, bridged," spat the ghoul, "thanks to  _you_. The living Lich King, who does not understand her powers and makes possible such dangerous unions. The damn cow was too clever by half. She found a way to warn you even after I silenced her." The silhouette with horns standing between Jaina and the nightmare coalesced into a curly-haired Tauren in her mind's eye.  _The will of one is enough,_ whispered Earthsinger's spirit triumphantly and relaxed into the ice.

Jaina took a step back and Kel'Thuzad's perception was abruptly linked with hers as she settled her fingertips on his. In her sight the ghoul was a cold, ravenous well of light, lined with betrayal and malice and destruction, blinding and horrible. Kel'Thuzad recognized an iota of his own power in Talsen, a veneer of kinship, and had a wrenching, terrifying moment of recognition.

_Jaina...!_

"You are such a perfect vessel," crooned the ghoul, taking a slow step forward. "So gifted and so stupid." An aura of threat bloomed around him, magic far greater than a ghoul should have possessed. "Trying to be a good little mage with all that strangeness eating you up inside."

"I've come to terms with it," said Jaina. "I was under the impression that Arthas had managed to destroy what remained of your spirit, Ner'zhul. How did you deceive him?" Kel'Thuzad flinched.

The ghoul's expression soured at her recognition. "Not so stupid, then."

"Tell me how you exist," whispered Jaina. She was unafraid, and Kel'Thuzad was torn between admiring her composure and fearing that she didn't understand how truly dangerous the malevolent old spirit was.

"He thought he consumed my soul," said Ner'zhul, baring his teeth in a grin. "To destroy it. A  _human's_  mistake. Consumption is  _integration_. He had no soul of his own, had it chewed up and swallowed by the sword, but the shell remembers. The shell was empty. I hid and he could no longer see me for his arrogance." He spat. "The lord of the Burning Legion couldn't destroy me."

"He should have tried harder," muttered Kel'Thuzad.

"You killed Earthsinger," said Jaina and her grip on Kel'Thuzad's hand tensed. "You put the shard in Dreilide. You've been watching my dreams." The ghoul's lip curled in a sneer. "What did you hope to accomplish?" Jaina asked. Ner'zhul spread his dessicated hands.

"You are a short-sighted fool if you cannot guess that," he said. He waved a hand dismissively and half-turned from them, scratching ragged nails against the heavy steel doors of the Nerubian tunnel.

"You cannot take this power from me," Jaina said, "I will defend it, unto my death if I must, to keep it out of your hands."

"Whatever you think you understand about that power, I know more," threatened Ner'zhul. Kel'Thuzad moved forward, putting himself purposefully between Jaina and Ner'zhul. "And you, my perfect servant. I was your King first. Come with me and I will give you knowledge no other being on Azeroth can."

Kel'Thuzad hissed between his fangs. "You give nothing without a price and I've already paid dearly."

"Dearly, you say. You got what you wanted, didn't you?" The spirit's mocking expression widened into a terrible smile. "What do you think I paid in return for that sliver of the death knight's blade...?"

Jaina frowned. "You paid in lies that the Highlord was too willing to accept."

"No, Lady King. I paid him with a promise that I would acquire an item for him when I finally left Icecrown. Now, we deal." He crouched, balancing on his haunches, wiping his hands on tattered breeches, his sulphurous yellow eyes hidden behind a mat of decaying hair. "Come. What would you have: your own peace of mind..." He turned his gaze up to Kel'Thuzad. "...or the lich?"

"What have you-" began Kel'Thuzad, but Jaina shook her head.

"I'll make no bargain without clarification."

Ner'zhul shrugged and licked his lips. "I will leave Icecrown, and leave off meddling in your rule, if you give me the lich's phylactery. I promised it to Fordring." He grinned broadly, every broken tooth exposed, and Kel'Thuzad lunged despite Jaina's dismay, slashing his talons across the ghoul's face, tearing dry flesh off in strips and scraping the bone beneath. Ner'zhul snapped to his feet, glowering, and the lich was engulfed in black, red-edged flames for an instant.

" _Enough_ ," said Jaina and the word echoed harshly off the metal gates beside them. "There will be no deal. Your word is worthless and even if you did leave, as you say, you will only cause misery elsewhere. I will remove you from my Citadel by force," she vowed, "and if you do not believe me, woe be unto you."

Ner'zhul's smile faded. "No, Lady Jaina, woe be unto  _you_. Reluctant, un-trained mortal! A silly woman still in love with a dead man." He closed one leathery hand into a fist. "You are not worthy of the title of Lich King." Jaina's eyes narrowed.

"And you are, I suppose? You would over-run Azeroth with the Scourge, exterminate your enemies, bathe in blood? Then what? This power was made to be a tool, a  _weapon,_  of the Burning Legion. Who wields it made little difference to the demons so long as that wielder could be controlled. You betrayed them, Ner'zhul, even after you convinced the Orcs to drink demon's blood."  _The blood of one is enough. The voice of one is enough._ "And Arthas betrayed the Legion as well. Their weapon back-fired." She leaned down. "I didn't  _desire_  this power, but I am just as worthy of wielding it as you are."

To Kel'Thuzad's surprise, Ner'zhul leaned away from her. " _I_  deserve it," he said.

"No, you don't. You misled and damned your own people. You betrayed your masters in the Burning Legion. You corrupted and destroyed Arthas. You deserve  _death,_ " she hissed. They were less than a meter from each other now. Jaina's eyes seared with pale blue light and her breath crystallized before her as the temperature around the Lich King plummeted. "It will be a mercy to you," she continued softly, "and a relief to everyone else."

The ghoul shrank back, baring his teeth. "You will not be my end," he said, and vanished with a crack of thunder, flinging a single bolt of demonic magic at Jaina before he did. She scrambled aside but Kel'Thuzad was less nimble. The attack struck him in the chest, leaving a starburst of scorch-marks on his ribs and sternum and shoving him backwards abruptly.

"Are you all right?" asked Jaina, picking herself up, breathless. Kel'Thuzad patted his collar, where the heat of the attack had caused the jewels to crack and the metalwork to deform.

"I'll survive. Where is he?"

This time, it took Jaina only seconds to search for the ghoul, and her vision stayed clear and focused. "In your lab!" Kel'Thuzad grabbed her shoulder and teleported them both, already raising his magic as they reappeared. Jaina cast about for the malevolent spirit, ignoring the corpse of Earthsinger laid out on one table, now surrounded by a ring of white candles.

"My Lord-!" The necromancer, Stavros, dropped to his knees before Kel'Thuzad, one hand clutched hard against his chest. "We couldn't stop him-" Jaina hurried to kneel beside him, prying his fingers away from a smoking wound that bored clear through his body. "My Lady, I'm sorry."

"What happened?" she asked, "Where did he go?"

"He- he took the Helm," gasped Stavros, more shocked by the attack than he was in injured by it. He was still growing accustomed to undeath and reacted more out of instinct than sensation. "He said nothing, my Lady. He simply vanished."

"The Helm," said Kel'Thuzad dizzily. A fog of bloodlust and desperation began to fall over his logic and he hovered, trembling, clenching and unclenching his fists.

"The ghoul said Master Kel'Thuzad would not be needing it," supplied Stavros, recovering his composure. Jaina helped him to his feet.

"He means to let the paladin kill me," said Kel'Thuzad faintly and turned away, mind reeling.

"...must have a middle-man," Jaina was saying, shooing the Thuzadin out without scolding them for their presence. It was a struggle for Kel'Thuzad to understand her words. "He can't go to Light's Hope himself to deliver it to the Highlord."

"I don't- why should he?" said Kel'Thuzad. He looked around the lab aimlessly, searching for something, anything that might give him an advantage. Ner'zhul had the Helm, his phylactery. Kel'Thuzad was as good as mortal. Suddenly his elegant, skeletal form seemed fragile and precious, and he drew his hands to his chest, backing into a corner.

"...powerful shaman, and with all the demon magic he learned... isn't in Northrend..." Jaina's voice faded in and out.  _I don't want to die._  "Hey!" Kel'Thuzad jerked back. Jaina was standing on the counter beside him, for once at his eye level, frowning. "I can find him," she said, "but I need your help."

The lich nodded once.

"Tell me what you know about his magic," she ordered, gaze locked with his, holding his attention.

"He was a shaman before he was the Lich King," said Kel'Thuzad automatically, "and he was given knowledge of demonic magic by his demon masters."

"What kind of knowledge? Give me specifics. Can I fight him and win?"

"I want to believe you can, but I am honestly not certain. He did flee from you, which I would take as a good sign."

"And if you help me, can we beat him together?"

The frigid light in her eyes had overwhelmed her pupils. "I was taking my assistance into account when I said I wasn't certain," said Kel'Thuzad. "He is powerful and his power is strange and unique. As a mage, you may have been able to best him but your magic is- is mixed now. It may damage you as much as it does him."

"Shamanism, necromancy, and demonic magic together. Come on," she said, daintily sliding off the countertop, "We need a shaman and a warlock." Kel'Thuzad lurched after her. He sealed the door, then turned to follow her, only to halt abruptly as she stood on her tip-toes and reached up towards his shattered collar.

"I'll fix it later-"

"What's that?" She couldn't reach the edge of the paper protruding from the ruined jewelry. The lich looked down in confusion and tugged the folded letter free of it's safe-keeping. He had forgotten it in the whirlwind of activity.

"It was delivered while you were gone," he said and held it out. Jaina shook her head.

"It's for you, not me."

"It's addressed to you."

"I wrote the query, but the reply is yours," she said.

"I guessed as much, but..." One corner was singed off. The fact it bore her name and not his had given him an excuse to keep from opening it. Now he had permission but he couldn't focus, couldn't process what would almost certainly be painful news.  _What does it matter anyway?_

"There'll be time later. Come!" Kel'Thuzad obeyed. She trotted through the halls, back to the Oratory.

Jaina approached the metal gates in the floor, still closed, and knocked politely. Kel'Thuzad hung back, the letter still held timorously in his long talons, unread. A muffled voice warily requested Jaina's identity from within the Nerubian's tunnel, and the doors were cautiously opened. Anu'Shukhet herself emerged at the head of an armed squad, Imuruk at her side.

"Greetings, Lady Jaina. I've been told we may have a chance at revenge after all," rumbled the Nerubian warrior in a voice Jaina still failed to connect with her gender.

"I would appreciate your help, commander, but I must impress upon you the danger Ner'zhul presents," said Jaina. One of the spiderguards knelt beside his leader and Samina slid from his back with barely veiled discomfort.

"We do not mind danger," replied Anu'Shukhet, then muttered, "Imuruk has been saying the same, though he could not tell me the bastard's name."

"Ner'zhul," supplied Jaina, "once was a shaman and leader of his people but he was tempted and corrupted by the Burning Legion. They made him the first Lich King."

"He means to take back that title, then?"

"Yes," said Jaina. "And I have no intention of letting him. Anu'Shukhet, I must make a terrible request. I need Imuruk's help. I need a shaman. It would be he that I placed in the greatest danger, not yourself." The spiderlord turned to her consort and settled both massive sickle claws to either side of him, herding Imuruk protectively against her torso. Jaina had never seen any intimation of their affection before, not in any manner that she understood. Despite their inhumanity, the gesture was still profoundly tender.

"What is your will?" Anu'Shukhet asked him. Imuruk reared up within her embrace; he was half her height, frail and dully-coloured, almost lost against her brilliant sapphire. "Very well," she said, though Imuruk had not spoken audibly. "But I'm coming with you."

"Of course!" chirped the shaman, then settled once again onto all four legs and turned to face Jaina. "What do you need from me, Lady Jaina?"

"Information. Ner'zhul is a skilled shaman and I know very little of your shared craft."

Imuruk scratched at his disfigured mandible. "Jaina, I have every wish to help you and to kill this man for my own reasons, but I'm not sure how much useful information I can provide. This man, Ner'zhul, posed as Talsen flawlessly. The spirits told me nothing about him; either he somehow fooled them too, or he has magic I know nothing about."

"Yes, I need a warlock. Perhaps it was some demonic spell."

Imuruk shook his head. "No.  _That_  I have no trouble sensing, no matter how careful the wielder. It is too strange to hide. No, Ner'zhul manipulated my perception or the spirits' communication somehow to keep me from discovering him."

Jaina's posture slumped.

"Don't despair," said Imuruk quickly, reaching out to pat her shoulder, "I don't know everything. I only know what Earthsinger taught me and she only taught me what her people trained her to know. There are different schools of shamanism, just as there are different schools of magic, though no one has bothered to separate and name them as specifically as you mages have done."

"I need someone who practices a similar form of shamanism, then." Jaina chewed her lip. "Can you make a guess what sort of person I'm looking for?"

Imuruk clapped his top set of hands. "Yes. You need an Orcish shaman."

Jaina's eyes widened. "Oh," she said softly, "it just so happens that I know one."


	18. Best Laid Schemes

Varok Saurfang sipped his coffee. Despite the iron-bound stein from which he was drinking and his daunting physique, the old Orc made Jaina comfortable in his presence. This was the second time she had found herself a guest in Warsong Hold. The first, several weeks before, had come at the High Overlord's invitation and proved unexpectedly relaxing. Now, Jaina had approached Saurfang to ask him to contact his Warchief on her behalf.

"The Horde is changing," the retired High Overlord said. "Again. Thrall changed it when he united the clans and brought us to Kalimdor. He changed it too when he reached out to humans across decades of blood." Saurfang looked pointedly at Jaina, leaning forward, his massive paws dwarfing the studded mug between them. "But he hesitated too long in the battle of Northrend. Hellscream won the Horde's respect as a field commander and when he challenged Thrall for leadership-"

"He did what?" Jaina gasped. Saurfang nodded.

"They dueled. Neither won, for the Scourge invaded Orgrimmar, but Garrosh already had many supporters then, and he has legions now."

"I didn't know," said Jaina softly. She had been so busy with her own problems; she had been entirely unaware that her old friend was dealing with upheaval of his own.  _No wonder I haven't seen so much as a letter in the past seven months._

"The war against the Scourge is over, though," Saurfang continued, "Hellscream may be an inspiring commander but he is untried in other political arenas. And the Horde loves Thrall for what he has made us. We shall wait and see."

Jaina pursed her lips. "We used to write letters to each other every week," she said, not bothering to hide the regret in her tone.

"It seems your brother has continued to do so."

Jaina looked up, startled. "Tandred? He has?" She felt a sudden rush of pride. "I have been too much involved in my own affairs of late."

Saurfang frowned. "Perhaps you have, Your Highness, but I for one was glad to see your ambitions did not extend beyond Northrend."

From high above them in the cavernous iron fortress, a horn brayed long and low, announcing the arrival of a zeppelin. Jaina swallowed her guilt with a mouthful of sugared tea and followed Saurfang into the tower. The stairs to the zeppelin platform were steep and straight, opening into the airship's berth. The design turned the stairway into a frigid wind tunnel in the winter months and although Northrend now hovered on the cusp of spring, Jaina still winced at the stinging gale hurtling through the building.

She stepped out of the stairwell and the air currents shifted abruptly, catching the heavy cloak and furling it upwards like black wings behind her. Over the thunderous rhythm of the zeppelin's propellers cycling down, she heard a whistle and Saurfang motioned for her to join him off to the side, as the airship crew finished anchoring their craft.

There were more passengers on board the flight than Jaina expected. Some of them had people waiting on the platform to greet them. She found herself smiling at two Troll women who scrambled towards each other, abandoning all perceived dignity as they embraced enthusiastically, laughing and grinning like little girls.

"Lady Proudmoore."

Jaina turned away from the reunited friends and found herself enfolded in a powerful and undignified hug of her own.

"Warchief!" she managed to gasp and struggled to free herself enough to return Thrall's informal greeting. They stood apart, holding each others forearms, staring openly, the changes each had undergone reflected and magnified anew in the eyes of the other.

"It is good to see you, old friend." The Warcheif smiled broadly around his tusks and Jaina beamed in return.

"Oh, it has been  _too long_ ," she replied in earnest.

"Come, children," said Saurfang with amusement, "this is no place for such as yourselves to linger."

Jaina followed wordlessly, unable to tear her gaze away from her Orcish friend. The proud, black and gold armour he favoured bore new scars and gouges, and Jaina guessed some of them had come from Hellscream's axe. He carried the massive Doomhammer at his hip, but it was his posture that demanded respect: he stood straight, held his chin high, and walked with an easy strength that bespoke a new, relaxed confidence. Jaina found herself impressed, and confused; this did not seem to be a man in danger of losing his empire.  _I must ask him about the Horde,_  she thought curiously.

Catching a glimpse of her unnaturally pale hair in her peripheral vision, she wondered what Thrall thought of her own outward changes.

They returned to the High Overlord's personal quarters. Saurfang shut the door and settled into the only chair in the room large enough to accommodate him. Jaina took a seat beside him, still cataloging the nuances of Thrall's appearance with curiosity and a fleeting nostalgia.

"I apologize for my lack of communication," she began as soon as they were settled. "It truly pains me that I have neglected our friendship this long." Thrall seated himself opposite Jaina across a low table and leaned forward, elbows on his knees, hands clasped loosely.

"I as well," he replied sincerely, "Though I would have preferred to meet again for more pleasant reasons."

"But this is Azeroth," said Jaina almost apologetically, "and no peace goes undisturbed." Saurfang grunted assent and Thrall nodded.

"I could hardly believe Varok's letter when I read it.  _Ner'zhul?_  We all thought him finished. This time, he will be." Thrall's new breed of self-assurance extended to his words. The statement held not the bravado of a commander speaking to inspire his troops; he was perfectly confident that they could eliminate Ner'zhul.

"You have my deepest thanks for postponing your work to aid me, Thrall," said Jaina, and met his eyes. "I have spent so much time inside my own head these past months. I can't tell you how relieved I am to come out and discover I still have such good friends."

"I'm relieved that you still think of me as such, Jaina," said Thrall with undisguised warmth. "Can we agree to forgive each other for this lapse in communication?" Jaina smiled and nodded. "Good."

"I would very much like to hear about the situation in Kalimdor," she continued, "but it must wait until we deal with Ner'zhul. He is a threat to more than myself."

"And I would very much like to see Icecrown Citadel when this is over. So what is your plan? You always have a plan."

Jaina smiled. "Yes, I do."

* * *

No matter how powerful Ner'zhul's hybrid magic was, his spirit was contained in an undead body and thus subject to certain aspects of Jaina's own abilities. He couldn't hide from her relentless vision and so he stopped trying. Instead, he sought temporary security among other individuals of dubious moral character.

Kel'Thuzad had only a peripheral knowledge of the Twilight's Hammer and their activities until Ner'zhul inserted himself into their ranks. There had been enclaves of the death cult in Northrend, deep in the Old Kingdom of Azjol'Nerub and high in the Storm Peaks around Ulduar, but he had not frequented either location. The Cult of the Damned did not take kindly to others infringing on their territory, and so the Twilight's Hammer had been largely extirpated from the continent. Until now, Kel'Thuzad had no reason to learn more about them. He had never found cause to visit Silithus until this moment either and decided he would have been happy to go his entire life without doing so.

It was hot. It was desolate. It was populated entirely by dangerous creatures that Kel'Thuzad supposed survived by eating each other since he had seen no prey species of any kind. Shortly after his arrival, Kel'Thuzad had learned there were also Druids here, Tauren and kaldorei of the Cenarion Circle, baking together in the oppressive desert for some unknown good cause. There were Silithids, mindless hissing ancestors or distant cousins of the Nerubians that shared little of their culture and none of their language. And there was a large collection of Twilight's Hammer cultists, of varied race and surly disposition, who clearly reviled, but did not approach, Kel'Thuzad.  _Those who worship death can hardly appreciate the circumvention of it_ , he thought with some amusement.  _To them, undeath must be the height of hubris._

There was also virtually nowhere to hide, especially not for a fifteen-foot tall skeletal apparition whose taste in personal ornamentation ran to the extravagant. Fortunately, Kel'Thuzad did not require stealth. He did not bother teleporting or moving at night because he wanted to be seen. It didn't take long.

Ner'zhul found him on his third day in the desert, observing one of the Twilight encampments from the shade of an eerily floating crystal formation.

"Is it loyalty to your beloved Lady King that sent you here, Kel'Thuzad?" murmured the ghoul, detaching himself from the pool of shadows behind the lich. "Or do you wish for death?"

Kel'Thuzad lowered himself to the ground, affecting a seated pose, then prostrated himself, chin in the sand, hands out-stretched in supplication to his oldest master.

"I did not come on her command, my lord," he rasped. "I came to receive yours." He waited, motionless, for Ner'zhul to consider his words.

"You are a poor actor," scoffed the ghoul finally, pacing around Kel'Thuzad. "You cannot convince me that you would betray her so easily. This is a ruse."

It hurt Kel'Thuzad's ego to remain in such a position for too long. He raised his head and tracked Ner'zhul with burning eyes. " _You_  designed this binding, Ner'zhul. You know more about how the Lich King's command affects me than anyone else. Jaina is ill-suited to the title but I only know that because she's given me the free will to contradict her. She's allowed me the ability to  _choose_."

"And I am to believe that your choice led you away from her? Phaugh. You barely took notice of me in the Citadel, but I watched you both, Kel'Thuzad. You love her well beyond the bond of King and servant."

Kel'Thuzad dug his talons into the sand. "No," he spat, "that is her sentiment, not mine. I can disobey her words but I cannot reject the  _subtleties_  of her will."

"Then if this is you begging to be readmitted to my command, what use are you to me? Unable to rise up against the woman I need dead?" Ner'zhul turned away. "Pathetic."

For several moments, Kel'Thuzad said nothing, then slowly straightened out of his servile pose. "Then give me death, Ner'zhul," he said wearily, "true, final death so that I may be free. You have my phylactery. You have the power." Ner'zhul turned back to consider the lich with renewed interest.

"You would rather die than return to her?"

"I would rather not die at all, but I cannot abide her- her  _emotions_ \- and until you revealed yourself, I had no realistic avenue of escape."

Ner'zhul began to laugh; a cruel, hacking sound. "She can call you back whenever she desires. You are the Lich King's dog." He snapped his withered fingers. "Better than a dog. Sometimes dogs ignore their masters."

"I know!" snapped Kel'Thuzad, irritably, "And I will bear it 'til you kill her and take her place!" The vehemence in his tone caused Ner'zhul to turn abruptly and cease prowling circles around Kel'Thuzad, considering the lich with narrowed eyes. Kel'Thuzad remained motionless, save for his restless chains.

Ner'zhul turned away. "Come," he said and walked toward the Twilight's Hammer camp. Kel'Thuzad followed obediently. "I have a use for you. She cannot see through your mind unless you allow her to, yes?" Kel'Thuzad affirmed she couldn't but neglected to explain the reason. Ner'zhul did not need to learn about psychic shields if it could be helped.

The ghoul waved Kel'Thuzad to his side. "I have need of a capable field captain. I don't trust you any more than I trust these foolish wretches, but at least I know you have some strength in you. Look at them," he gestured derisively as they came into the camp. Several of the Twilight's Hammer frowned and moved off, muttering among themselves at Kel'Thuzad's appearance, but none of them challenged Ner'zhul.

"What have you offered them?" asked the lich. "Surely they have no interest in my phylactery."

Ner'zhul turned an eye over his shoulder. "Ah, so it's not loyalty or a desire to serve that brought you here. You want the Helm back."

Kel'Thuzad said nothing and pointedly directed his gaze towards the mistrustful cultists.

"You've mentioned it twice now in ten minutes. Ha. It is safe, and it is hidden, and perhaps if you prove yourself useful to me, I will return it."

"I thought you promised it to Fordring," growled Kel'Thuzad darkly.

Ner'zhul snorted. "I have what I wanted from the Highlord. If I never repay him for his eager stupidity, it would be more than he deserves. Here, now. Let us see what mysteries the desert holds."

* * *

"She's the only warlock in Warsong Hold right now," explained Saurfang, one hand resting companionably on the young Orc's shoulder. "But she assures me that her knowledge will be sufficient for your purposes."

Jaina did not let her uncertainty show in her expression. Saurfang would not mislead her but...  _She's barely more than a girl!_   _Though I suppose someone looked at me and thought the same once._  "Thank you for volunteering, Tephra," she said and shook the warlock's hand.

"I am honoured, my Lady," Tephra replied enthusiastically. "Ner'zhul is a traitor and an embarrassment to my people! That I should be allowed to work with your esteemed self and- and-" Her confidence faltered as she turned her eyes up to Thrall, who, Jaina noticed, was decisively not looking at the young warlock. "-and the legendary son of Durotan is more than I deserve."

"And Kel'Thuzad," added Saurfang helpfully, causing Tephra to gulp and grip her staff til the wood creaked, "Where is he, Lady Proudmoore? You should have brought him along. We had some history to sort out."

"I don't know  _exactly_ where he is," replied Jaina. "Of all the Scourge, he is the only one who can hide himself from my vision," she explained, "but I trust he is prepared to play his role when the time comes." She retook her seat. "Now, so far we've managed to discern that Ner'zhul's magic is composed of three parts: shamanism in the Orcish tradition, necromancy, and demonic power similar to that taught among your warlocks. Kel'Thuzad has supplied me with a thorough understanding of the necromantic aspects, and an introduction to the demonic discipline." Jaina paused and pulled a thick notebook out of her satchel, laying it open on the table and flipping pages. "Here. But it's more than simply understanding how each form of magic functions. What we need to learn is how they overlap."

Thrall nodded, leaning forward to read Kel'Thuzad's careful handwriting, but Tephra and Saurfang wore expressions of thinly-veiled confusion. Jaina elaborated. "Magic itself is undefined. People created the different schools of magic and, some might say, limited what an individual can study within each school."

"But there are definitions," added Thrall, "of some kind. Orcs have no talent for the Druidic arts, for example, but Tauren do, yet they also share an affinity for shamanism with us. Somewhere there are definitions. They lie in the magic itself or in biological differences between the races, and they dictate what an individual can and cannot perform."

Jaina took over. "Ner'zhul has managed to learn not only three separate schools of magic, but he has learned how to integrate them with each other. The hybrid spells he has made from these integrations are the most dangerous, because none of us singly understands how they function and can't counter them appropriately. The point of calling you together is to pool our knowledge, determine what form his hybrid spells will most likely take, and construct counterspells."

"Then we hunt him down and kill him," said Tephra triumphantly.

"Not exactly," cautioned Jaina. "We hunt him down and determine  _how_  he can be killed."

Thrall had paged back through Kel'Thuzad's ledger and was reading the lich's notes on the disguise spell Ner'zhul currently wore. "Ner'zhul is a spirit housed a foreign body. Destroying the body he inhabits won't destroy the spirit; it will only release it." He looked up at Jaina. "If we had more time, I would ask Sylvanas, gently, about what was done to her."

"I had the same idea," Jaina replied slowly, "but Kel'Thuzad deterred me. Although she was killed and her spirit parted from her body, her body was kept intact and she managed later to reunite her spirit with it. Ner'zhul's body is long gone and so is any attachment to it."

"He's more like the lich then," mused Thrall, toying thoughtfully with the tip of one thick braid. "Though Kel'Thuzad's spirit is anchored here by his phylactery if his physical body is destroyed, correct?"

"Yes. But Ner'zhul is not a lich. As far as we have been able to determine, his spirit remains here by virtue of sheer will." Jaina realized they had lost Saurfang entirely, and that the retired Overlord was simply watching the discussion as one might idly watch a friendly duel. Tephra had opened a notebook of her own and was frantically taking notes. The young warlock looked up.

"Um," began Tephra, her voice tiny as she raised her eyes to the Lich King and the Warchief, "My Lady, my Lord, maybe-" she cleared her throat and straightened her shoulders, "I think maybe he does- _probably_ \- have something like a phylactery." She fumbled through a pouch at her side and withdrew a dark opal slightly larger than her thumbnail.

"A soulstone," said Jaina with interest. "May I?" Tephra handed it to her and Jaina let her gaze unfocus, seeing beyond the material shape of the object to its magical properties. "Interesting," Jaina murmured. "It is similar. It's a lot less complex than Kel'Thuzad's phylactery. It doesn't recall a specific form or even apply to a specific individual, but it shares some of the anchoring properties." She gave the stone back. "Why do you think Ner'zhul has a soulstone?"

"With all due respect, Lady Proudmoore, one can't  _will_  themselves to remain on the plane of the living. Ner'zhul has been dead for many years; his spirit should move on, but it doesn't, so he probably has an anchor of some kind. A soulstone is an easy way of making one."

Thrall made a thoughtful noise and entered the conversation, shaking his head. "Ner'zhul is also a shaman. We have a spell, called  _reincarnation_ , that integrates a spiritual anchor without need of a physical object."

Now Saurfang sat up, frowning. "What's the importance of this 'anchoring' business?" he asked.

"When someone dies, High Overlord, their soul departs for another plane," explained Tephra. "Normally."

"The spirit plane," affirmed Thrall. "But to achieve that, a spirit must accept that it is dead. It takes some more time than others; those in denial or unaware of their death are what we call ghosts. It's why you find ghosts on battlefields frequently. Sometimes when a person dies quickly, they don't realize it has happened. Or the ghosts of children. They don't understand." Saurfang looked down at his hands, nodding slowly.

"If Ner'zhul can use this  _reincarnation_  spell, how do we counter it?" asked Jaina and all eyes turned to Thrall. He folded his arms over his chest, a frown tugging at his lips.

"It cannot be countered," he said grimly, "even by another shaman. It isn't something that can be written down or practiced, only understood and affected at the right moment."

"What happens then?" Jaina pressed. Although her understanding of necromancy had increased greatly in the past months, she had never grasped the workings of true, life-restoring resurrection magicks performed by paladins, priests, druids, and shamans.

"On the moment of death- the moment when body and spirit separate-" Thrall illustrated by jerking his hands away from each other violently, "-the spell instantly ties the spirit to the body. Simultaneously, it heals the body sufficiently to sustain life. It only takes seconds, but it requires years of training to understand, and..." He paused. "There was a mage in Dalaran researching how a spell that required so much energy could be enacted with no apparent immediate cost to the user."

"Oh, that's very interesting," said Jaina, captivated, making a mental note to look up the topic.

"But, sir, Ner'zhul's body is  _undead._ How can that be healed?" said Tephra hesitantly.

Jaina found herself suddenly in a position of expertise. "Undead bodies are bound by magic that functions like the organic systems which sustain the living," she explained. "The most basal necromancy simply mimics tendons and major muscle groups, but the higher orders have fine motor control, enhanced strength, even nervous systems, which can all be healed necromantically. All we need to do is destroy his body completely."

"Burn it to ash," said Thrall with finality. "And keep his wretched spirit from finding another man's form to wear."

Tephra put up her hand tentatively. "Let me cast my soulstone on him, before you destroy his body, my Lord. His spirit will be trapped within the stone. He won't be able to find a new body."

"And what then?" said Thrall. "Do we bury it? Lock it up? We all know the story of Illidan Stormrage. Nothing imprisoned stays imprisoned indefinitely."

"No," said Jaina quietly, "we do what Arthas failed to: we exorcise him."

"Yes," said Thrall emphatically, and it seemed he wished to say more, but held his tongue. Jaina hesitated for a moment before speaking, hoping Thrall would elaborate, but he did not.

"Can you turn anything into a soulstone, or must it be a gem?" asked Jaina finally.

"Oh, no, the physical soulstone is  _made_  from the spell itself, my Lady," replied Tephra. "I don't know why they look like gems," she added with some embarrassment. Jaina thought about the construction of Tephra's stone.

"The molecules that make up a gem are particularly well-organized," said Thrall, giving voice to Jaina's idea before she could. "It's a logical, compact form for a complex spell." He saw Jaina's expression and flashed her a smile composed mostly of fangs. "Lady Jaina agrees. How long do you need to prepare?"

"Moments only," said Tephra, "it is an easy thing to cast, Warchief."

"Good. Moments may be all we have. I won't lie to you, Tephra: he will target you because you are the weakest of us. Jaina and I can protect you, but-"

Saurfang sat forward with a grunt. "I'll see to the warlock's safety," he said.

"You're not coming," replied Thrall, startled by the old warrior's assertion. Saurfang leveled his gaze on the Warchief.

"Who's going stop me?" he asked. Several seconds passed with no volunteers.

"Very well," Thrall relented. "You've as much right as any of us to confront him. This must be our final battle against Ner'zhul's influence. I will see this traitor dead by our hands and vilified by history!" Thrall rose to his feet. "I will meditate and speak to the element of fire, to ask its aid in this task. Jaina, where is Ner'zhul at the moment?"

"Silithus," she replied immediately, and stood up as well.

"Good," said Tephra, "he has run as far as he possibly can from you. That bodes well for us."

* * *

Kel'Thuzad found little respect among the Twilight's Hammer. The cultists agreed to follow his orders, though he guessed there was a none-too-distant future where they would refuse him. They called Ner'zhul by his adopted name- Talsen- and accepted his command with more fear than respect. Kel'Thuzad hadn't managed to discover what the conniving spirit had done to secure a place high in their ranks but judging by the reactions of the cultists, it had probably involved messily dispatching whoever formerly occupied his position and making examples of his detractors.

"I fail to understand why you chose this place to make your stand," said Kel'Thuzad. He was watching two cultists in whispered conversation who were making no effort to disguise the fact they were talking about him.

"Look around," said Ner'zhul, ignoring Kel'Thuzad's sulky tone. "There are so  _many_  of them. A ready army, waiting for direction. Fools worshipping the Old Gods, plotting to bring about the end of the world."

"Is that what they're up to, then? It hasn't worked out very well for them yet."

"The Old Gods are just that," Ner'zhul continued. "Old. Not dead, just dreaming, or so they say, but close enough to dead. But planning the end of the world takes time and requires weapons, which we can put to better use. Come. I will show you what we have to work with."

Ner'zhul set out from the camp at a leisurely pace, whistling. Kel'Thuzad followed, peering into the distance and trying to guess the malevolent old spirit's purpose. They traveled through a sunset that turned the sand pink, then blazing vermillion, then plunged the desert into unrelieved night. Clouds gathered to obscure what light the stars might provide and for a time the only illumination came from the ethereal mist that filled Kel'Thuzad's ribcage.

It was nearly dawn when Kel'Thuzad realized that the bank of darkness rearing before him was not natural.

"What is this place?" he asked, craning his head back to guess the heights of the edifice that loomed above them.

"The Scarab Wall," said Ner'zhul. He too halted and turned his eyes up. "Think how frightening what lies beyond this wall must be, that the Night Elves and the Bronze Dragonflight felt compelled to construct such a thing to contain it." Kel'Thuzad found himself entirely out of his element; he had heard of the war fought at the Gates of Ahn'Qiraj, in the shadow of the Scarab Wall, but knew no details.

"What is beyond the wall?" he ventured. Ner'zhul smiled with his tattered lips.

"A way to kill Jaina Proudmoore," he replied. "You've met them before. Come and see."

* * *

Night fell and Jaina sat alone in the room Saurfang had prepared for her at Warsong Hold. She couldn't contact Kel'Thuzad and his silence was beginning to worry her.

_"I need to ask something of you," she had said the night Ner'zhul reappeared, and then fled._

_"Anything, my King," the lich had replied._

Perhaps, in light of her request, raising his mental shields to block out her unintentional telepathy was for the best. She needed him focused. Still, it would have eased her mind to know that Kel'Thuzad was, at the very least, alive.

There was a soft knock at the door. Jaina rose and opened it, hiding her concern for the lich behind a yawn.

"Surely that wasn't the hardest day you've had in the past seven months," said Thrall with mock disapproval. Jaina smiled.

"Not even close." She closed the door behind her and joined him in the corridor. By unspoken agreement, they turned and ambled towards the big iron elevator deck.

"How's Kalimdor?" Jaina asked just as Thrall said, "Why do they call you 'Lady King'?"

"You go first."

"No, please, ladies first."

Jaina stepped onto the platform. "There was a Death Knight, a Troll named Xochi. He called me Lady King. I thought he was being... well, being a Troll, and asked him not to but he insisted. He said I was Lady Proudmoore  _and_  the Lich King, and deserved both titles. It stuck."

"Technically though you're the Lich  _Queen_."

"Come now, 'Lady Queen' is just redundant." They chuckled together as the elevator rose. "What's happening in Orgrimmar?"

Thrall rolled his shoulders, took a deep breath and let it out slowly. "I have decided to relinquish control of the Horde to Garrosh Hellscream," he said, quiet but decisive. "Garrosh was right. The Horde needs a Warchief willing to fight."

Jaina was shocked into momentary silence. "But Overlord Saurfang said you-"

"I've told no one of my decision yet," Thrall interrupted, shaking his head. He stilled. "It was your request for aid that finally pushed me to decide. I had time to think, uninterrupted, on the flight here. It is the right thing to do." He sighed, though with what sounded like contentment rather than dejection. Suddenly Jaina understood the change she had observed in him that morning on the zeppelin platform. Such a conclusion must have been months in the deciding; now it was over, the burden resolved.

"We have been friends despite our political allegiances," he continued. "It made me think... Garrosh was here, in Northrend, where  _I_  should have been had I the Horde's interests in mind. Instead, I had my own interests. The Horde recognized it. Garrosh recognized it."

"The Horde loves you," said Jaina, still stunned.

"For my actions, yes. For my inactions, no. I should have launched an assault on Northrend the day that damn necropolis appeared over Orgrimmar! In my city! And yet I waited." He clenched his fist, then let it relax with a sigh. "I have another role to fill, one that I have long neglected. Your request made it clear to me that it is my more important, more fitting role."

"A shaman?" she guessed as the elevator bore them skyward. Thrall nodded once.

"My people are on the right path, returning to our old ways, our  _good_  ways. I hesitated when the Scourge invaded because I feared the Horde's bloodlust might lead us into another nightmare. But I was wrong. I misjudged the Horde; I under-estimated my own people. They had a right to battle and Garrosh let them have it. If my people cannot trust me to do right by them, then I don't deserve to lead." He looked down at Jaina, thoughtful, then his eyes crinkled at the corners. "Besides, I hear there's a lot less paperwork involved in being a shaman full-time."

Jaina's mood remained solemn. "The fact that you recognize this fault is what makes you a good leader, Thrall."

Thrall stepped off the elevator and considered the view from across the air taxi platform. "That may be so, but there is no arena as unforgiving as politics. I dishonoured the Horde when I doubted their competence by delaying a full military counterstrike on Arthas."

"And will you stay to advise Garrosh from making rash decisions, or will you simply leave him to his role, young and untried as he is, and focus on your own destiny?"

Thrall turned and stared, brow furrowed angrily. "Are you saying my decision is  _cowardly_?"

"No. I'm excited for you to embrace your shamanism, but I'm afraid too, of what the Horde could lose without your moderation to counter Garrosh's... enthusiastic dislike of the Alliance."

The Warchief frowned. "I didn't arrive at this decision lightly, Jaina. I considered the cost, to myself and to my people. And I must honour the duel that Garrosh was winning before the necropolis attacked Orgrimmar."

Jaina said nothing for several minutes, contemplating the thick sleeves that muffled her hands from the nip of the night wind. "You didn't tell Garrosh the how much paperwork the Warchief does, did you?"

"Some lessons can only be learned through experience," he said.

"Speaking of lessons," said Jaina, "Have you a teacher?" The Orcs had no formal school such as Dalaran, but Jaina had never doubted that Thrall was cut from cloth of the same quality as herself when it came to magic. Finding someone to instruct him would be no small task.

"My grandmother in Nagrand has suggested several, when I've had occasion to visit her. Her intentions are not exactly subtle."

"She'll be thrilled to hear your decision," said Jaina, through a pang of disappointment. She had felt such guilt when she realized how long their friendship had lapsed, and such hope at the prospect of renewing it, and now he was speaking of leaving Azeroth entirely.

"Oh yes. I will hear nothing except reprimands for how long it took me to arrive at my true path, how little I know, how much I have to learn, and what sort of deadly tests and trials I will have to pass."

"A little humility never hurt anyone," said Jaina helpfully.

"After that, she'll start in on why I don't have a mate yet, and when will I be siring some great-grandchildren, and why I haven't moved to Nagrand."

Jaina rolled her eyes. "Let's trade places. I'll study uninterrupted in a beautiful wild place with people who love me, and you can spend the next winter holding Kel'Thuzad's leash and trying to convince your former allies that you aren't a monster."

Thrall's shoulders tensed and he turned his back to her for a moment. Finally he spoke, his voice rough. "I... lied to you, Jaina," he confessed. "I wasn't too busy to write to you. I just didn't know what to say." He dropped his gaze to his hands, palms-up, penitent. "I didn't know who it would be writing back to me. I didn't know if my friend was gone, or so changed that she was no longer my friend. You came back for me on Mount Hyjal," he said, words saturated with remorse, "And I  _left you_  alone up here."

Jaina felt a lump in her throat that for once had nothing to do with sorrow or fear or shame or loss. When Thrall spoke of dishonouring the Horde, she had understood it in a technical, dispassionate way but this was his personal honour, and it involved her. She found that she understood it keenly.

"When I saw you on the platform- your hair, your eyes- that cloak- you were still  _you_ despite those things, Jaina. I know it was improper to hug you in greeting, but I felt so relieved-" He swallowed. "And so guilty."

Jaina cleared her throat. "I accept your apology," she said thickly.  _Tirion, Varian... my once-allies grow more wary in my presence with every passing month, but Thrall takes one look and decides I'm fine. Perhaps I should re-think my allegiances._ "Your support now is crucial, not only to me, but- but it is  _especially_  crucial to me," she said gently, then paused. "I've realized lately that my true friends exist in strange places."

Thrall looked up. "Kalimdor is not so strange."

"The Horde is strange though. Strange to me at least," she replied. "Lady Sylvanas gave me good council when I needed it; I've spent three months with a Tauren cook and an Orcish bodyguard. That Troll who called me 'Lady King' died for me." She touched the scar above her right hip. "And the Scourge fought for me. A lich and a Nerubian saved my life. I found I had friends in the most unexpected places." She looked up at Thrall. "But, happily, expected places too." She slipped her arm through his and led him out onto the walkway that ringed the summit of Warsong Hold, wind tossing her pale hair and his dark braids. "And friends are much more forgiving than politics."

"Very true," he said and turned to her with bold curiosity. "So what is it like then, being the Lich King? Tell me everything."

Jaina shrugged. "It's dark," she said, as they strolled along, arm-in-arm. "Monotonous. Annoying to put on so many layers of clothing every morning. Nothing grows on the glacier. They tell me this is the beginning of spring but all I see is snow. Snow, and ice, and my breath turning to crystal. Oh, but the aurora!" She raised a hand to the sky. "I can't describe it; it has to be witnessed. You must visit me when winter comes again. Consider it penance for your part in our communication breakdown."

"I will," he promised, amused, "And... your subjects? What of them?"

"Eager to please. Constantly moving. None of the undead sleep. The Vrykul shattered a tower on the front of the Citadel and Starkweather- one of my Death Knights- has it repaired already. Ghouls work hard. But they're mostly mindless."  _Good conversation is hard to come by,_ Kel'Thuzad had told her once.

They came around a corner on the high walkway that circled the top of the fort, and Thrall squinted into the north. "It must be lonely," he said and Jaina knew he was inwardly berating himself for abandoning her.

"It was at first," she replied. "But then, sometimes Theramore was lonely too."

* * *

Kel'Thuzad and Ner'zhul passed through the broken gates of Ahn'Qiraj and into the ruins of the deserted kingdom as dawn touched the desert with pinks and ambers. Bones, broken weapons, pieces of armour, and shards of chitinous exoskeleton littered the ground, lost in the shifting sand. Sinew and skin of the unburied dead, exposed to the heat and dry air, mummified in grotesque shapes between the debris.

It took Kel'Thuzad some time to adjust his senses to the sheer mammoth scale of the empty kingdom. What he thought was a banquet hall turned out to be a simple corridor. A field became a terrace bordered by scalloped walls.  _I suppose if the Nerubians had ever built above ground, their cities would be no less massive._ They crossed the expanse and descended a flight of stairs that brought them down into the kingdom proper.

Now and then, Kel'Thuzad caught a flicker of lights down the cavernous tunnels. "There's someone in here."

"Yes," replied Ner'zhul, "the Twilight's Hammer moved in when the Horde and the Alliance left. They fought the Qiraji to oblivion together and then left this great city behind, uninhabited."

Kel'Thuzad rumbled approval. "It is an easy place to hide a growing army."

"And more," said Ner'zhul and continued on. Deeper into the labyrinthine city, Kel'Thuzad glimpsed dozens of cultists, some idle, some performing mundane chores, some training with weapons or magic. Ner'zhul seemed to know where he was going. The spirit turned back to glance at Kel'Thuzad over his shoulder. "Can't you feel it, mage? Doesn't it call to you?"

"No," said Kel'Thuzad, perplexed. They turned another corner and came into a hallway lit with braziers set at regular intervals. At the far end towered a massive copper door, ornately patterned with geometric shapes reminiscent of parts of Naxxramas, and studded with brass spikes. Two guards flanked it. They raised their spears at the pair, then relaxed when they recognized Ner'zhul. Before either cultist could react, Ner'zhul gestured and they slumped to the floor, weapons clattering behind.

"Why-"

"When Jaina Proudmoore is dead, you will raise an army for me from the corpses of the Twilight's Hammer."

Now Kel'Thuzad was beginning to see the shape of Ner'zhul's plan. "Cunning," he said. "They've conveniently gathered themselves here for you."

"Better still, they have been exploring the ruins. Open the door. See what they found."

Kel'Thuzad did not hesitate, for to do so would show disloyalty. In truth, he feared what he would find, but he wrenched the handles down and hauled back, pulling the gates agape with a groan. The sound echoed down through the dead subterranean bowels of the city and for a moment, there was only the moan of ill-maintained metal and velvet darkness beyond the doors. Kel'Thuzad waited. Ner'zhul did not move and said nothing, so he crept forward cautiously into the gloom.

It was ominously silent. Then a crunch of stone moving on stone came from the blackness. Kel'Thuzad stopped, wary of instabilities in the corridors caused by the battle that had once raged through Ahn'Qiraj. But the noise was intermittent and measured, not the product of crumbling walls or settling debris. It sounded like footsteps. He fought the urge to back away.

In the gullet of the labyrinth, something growled with a voice like a shifting fault.

Kel'Thuzad tensed, light flaring in the palm of his hand, and he froze as the muzzle of the thing leaned down before him, dark and gilded and wrought with cruel angles. It had the form of a great cat carved from obsidian, incongruously graceful, with a man's torso and enormous black wings spreading from its feline shoulders, five meters wide. He had seen these things before. From the deepest, oldest places of Azjol'Nerub, the undead Nerubians dragged them up into the arctic light, living lithic weapons, ancient and terrifying. Arthas had used them to great effect in taking Northrend, but to the lich's knowledge, they had all been annihilated during the war.

"An Obsidian Destroyer," he whispered. Dread and understanding settled over Kel'Thuzad. "Constructs that live by stealing another mage's own magic."

"Wretched things from conquered kingdoms," purred Ner'zhul with obvious pride. The Destroyer regarded Kel'Thuzad with something unsettling that lingered between contempt and hunger. He had never commanded them but he had seen them in battle. If there was one thing every mage feared, it was an opponent that could strip them of their magic.

"And when they've drunk enough of Jaina's magic, they will turn it back against her," said Ner'zhul smugly, "all from a distance. The more mana they absorb, the more lethal their output. Imagine what they could do with her power. What  _I_ will do with it!"

"They?" said Kel'Thuzad, now completely unsettled, and suddenly he realized that there was another behind the first. And another. And then another. "So many of the cultists are magic-users," he remarked, trying to sound unconcerned. Kel'Thuzad forced himself to turn his back on the Destroyers and face Ner'zhul, crimson eyes glittering with anticipation.

The ghoul smiled coldly. "Yes, there are  _many_  mages among the Twilight's Hammer." He beckoned to the dark, looming things and they moved towards him, unquestioning, ignoring Kel'Thuzad.

"How do you control them?" asked the lich, fascinated by the creatures' obedience. First Anub'Arak and then Arthas had been the master of those used by the Scourge. The Crypt Lord had brought them to the Lich King as a tithe to his new master.

"You don't need to know," answered Ner'zhul, frowning. He waved Kel'Thuzad and the Destroyers out of the tomb in the same gesture. "I have bid them follow you. Lead them through Ahn'Qiraj and let them take the mana of those among the Twilight's Hammer gifted with magic, then kill  _everyone_."

Kel'Thuzad bowed. "As you command, Master."

The cultists within the city tried to fight at first, briefly, and then they tried to flee. The Obsidian Destroyers waited in the shadows as Kel'Thuzad gathered the unwitting cultists like a hellish sheepdog and drove the mages into their clutches. The constructs darted forward with unnatural speed, gilded mouths open, throats aglow from within, and Kel'Thuzad resisted an eerie tug in his chest as the Destroyers drew away the mana of the Twilight's Hammer mages. Once the Destroyers were finished, Kel'Thuzad dispatched the cultists with ice and claws and strangling chains.

He found the work curiously dispassionate. Somehow he expected the violence to affect him more thanks to Jaina's influence but he felt nothing. It was her judgement that affected him, he realized as he killed his way back towards the entrance of the city. She valued life and his taking of it saddened and disappointed her. Kel'Thuzad acknowledged that he would not have willingly massacred hundreds of people if Jaina had stood witness to the act, and he wondered what she would say when she came upon the aftermath.  _If Ner'zhul doesn't kill her. If I am still alive to bear her reaction._

Finally they reached the Gates again, facing out into the desert.

"What of their camps?" asked Kel'Thuzad eagerly. Bloody slush clung to his kilt in melting globs. The lich had frozen his latest prey and then waded through their helpless ranks wielding a greatsword. His arms were red to the elbows.

"Take the southern camp first," directed Ner'zhul, pleased with the performance, "Move quickly. Stop playing with them. Don't give them time to alert the groups further north."

Kel'Thuzad bowed. Flanked by the quad of Destroyers, he swept over the sand into the camp outside the walls of Ahn'Qiraj. The cultists regarded him with bored annoyance until he unceremoniously blasted them with a hail of frostbolts and opened a shadow fissure under their command tent. It was easier to tell which of the cultists were mages if they were engaged in battle. Again, the Twilight's Hammer tried to fight him, but only until the Destroyers arrived. Then they ran. Without the advent of city walls, collecting and controlling his prey proved more difficult. Twice Kel'Thuzad was forced to kill magic-users before the constructs had a chance to siphon off their mana, lest they escape and warn their brethren.

Less than an hour later, the southern camp was in ruins. Kel'Thuzad headed north, absently fretting about the stains on his kilt. Years ago he had devised a set of spells specifically for cleaning himself after battle or particularly messy interrogations. The last time he had reason to use the spells had been during the three days in which Jaina lay unconscious following their battle with the Vrykul. Most of the blood soaked into the fabric then had been hers.

The northern camp fell in less than half an hour, unprepared for Kel'Thuzad's pitiless approach.

"Well done," hissed Ner'zhul, surveying the disaster and its orchestrator. The spirit looked Kel'Thuzad up and down, attention settling on his gore-spattered raiment. "Alas, this is where our partnership must end."

Kel'Thuzad froze, every sense suddenly on edge, and Ner'zhul's smirk widened into a grin.

"Whether it was guile or love or selfishness that brought you here, I don't care. Even if I fed my toys every cultist in the desert, still they would not have the power to stand against the bitch. But you, Kel'Thuzad, there is more than enough strength in  _you_  to obliterate her."

He lunged at Ner'zhul with a wordless snarl and succeeded in driving his talons through the ghoul's face, but his triumph was his undoing. The Obsidian Destroyer's mana-drain took him point-blank in the back as he jerked his claws free. The ghoul reeled away, spitting out pieces of his tongue, cursing in Orcish.

The construct's power briefly paralyzed Kel'Thuzad, long enough for the thing to grab him by the elbows and pinion his arms behind his back. It held him fast though he struggled savagely, tearing away his energy with relentless force and Kel'Thuzad howled, horrified to discover a sort of pain he could still feel. Desperate, he lashed his chains backward clumsily, catching the Destroyer's wings and neck, and brought the links coiling inwards with tremendous force. The metal screamed and sparked, and bit through the Destroyer's obsidian skin. The construct's grip faltered as the chains sawed into the side of its neck and Kel'Thuzad yanked himself free. He tried to teleport, recognizing that this battle would cost him dearly- perhaps everything- and found he could not complete the spell.

"No," said Ner'zhul reproachfully, one hand pressed to his ravaged face, the other aglow with molten red magic, "You're not going anywhere."

The Destroyer pounced, closing the distance between them with uncanny speed and tackling the lich to the ground. There was a flurry of flapping wings, scything chains, and Kel'Thuzad's claws digging ineffectually at the obsidian form, then the lich's voice pitched abruptly upwards. A powerful explosion threw the construct back and drove Kel'Thuzad inches into the sand.

He rose hastily into the air, kilt in smoking tatters, ornate mantle shattered and dangling off one shoulder by the clasp. The remaining three uninjured Destroyers prowled forward.

"Take  _everything_ ," ordered Ner'zhul furiously. They flanked him and closed in, and Kel'Thuzad came to the chilling realization that, as a lich, his entire form was made of physically manifested magical energy.

The Obsidian Destroyers were going to devour him alive.

* * *

Of the previous battles in which Jaina had participated, the most reactionary had proved to be the most historically pivotal. Only in Northrend had she joined an extensively planned and marshaled military invasion. Now that they had a strategy against Ner'zhul, Jaina found herself second-guesssing every aspect of it. She thought of the months she had spent with Kel'Thuzad learning the intricacies of necromancy- and that education was far from over. How much could she and Thrall hope to deduce in a mere afternoon? What if everything they thought they had discovered was incorrect?

"Are you ready Jaina?" Thrall hefted the Doomhammer in both hands. She nodded quickly.

"I will need a moment to locate Ner'zhul and learn his position," said Jaina and closed her eyes. Beside her, in front of her, and behind her, she could sense her allies, dark smudges of shadow that indicated living beings to her inner sight. She launched her vision across the globe, seeking the decrepit ghoul.

When she found him, he was surrounded by corpses. Jaina dared not attempt to see the desert through his eyes, lest the spirit know of some way to psychically incapacitate her, but she could hover above him like a half-blind hawk. From there, she saw the candle-flame lights of the new dead spread out around him, waiting, almost tempting.

There was something else too, the barest shadow that trailed Ner'zhul's unhurried tread. At first she took it to be something so terribly wounded that it was hardly alive but as she observed, she realized it was something entirely different, something neither truly living nor undead, something given the  _semblence_  of life.

"He has a construct with him. I'm not sure what it is," she whispered. "He's moving northeast."

"Let the Kor'Kron worry about the construct," she heard Saurfang decide. He had elected to bring a squad of his elite troops and would brook no argument. Orcs liked to fight; Jaina could find no logical way to discourage them.

"A moment," she said, "and I will find a place for our portal."

**Kel'Thuzad** , she queried.  **The attack is prepared. Show me where Ner'zhul is.**

There was no answer for almost a full minute and Jaina wondered irritably how long it took to raise and lower one's mental shields.

_Here_ , was all she got, accompanied by a brief, wobbly view of wind-sculpted rock and bloody sand from an extremely low angle. A thrill of apprehension wriggled into her concentration. She expected a smug insult directed toward Ner'zhul, or at the least a quip.

**I need more context** , she pressed. Kel'Thuzad was a mage too; he knew that constructing a portal to a place one had never been was not easily done and potentially unsafe. She waited and he made no reply.  **Kel'Thuzad?** It was not like him to ignore a direct request.

_Sorry,_  he said, voice thin and distant. Jaina's brow furrowed, anxiety rapidly mounting. The lich's vision appeared again, overlaying her own, but it was weak and the colours were desaturating as she watched.

**That's enough** , she said, struggling to hide her worry and concentrate on their immediate goal.  **I've got it now.** She blinked several times, pulling away from Kel'Thuzad's perspective. It seemed to cling to her as she severed their connection, vainly trying to maintain contact. She almost re-established the connection, almost reached out to ask him what was wrong, but there was no time.  _Whatever it is, it has to wait. Ner'zhul is our priority._

"Here we go," she said, straightened her shoulders, and summoned a portal before the company. "I've given us cover behind a rock formation. Ner'zhul and his construct are a hundred meters due east. May the Light guard you all from harm."

They plunged through.

The heat was suffocating. Jaina took a breath and felt her tongue dry out, sticking to the roof of her mouth. She swallowed hard and blinked against the burning air. Saurfang had maneuvered in front of her, shoulder to shoulder with his Kor'Kron guard. They spread out behind the wind-chafed rock with expert precision. One signaled to the rest, dropped to her belly, and slithered forward to scout their position. She returned moments later, making hand signs that Saurfang and the Kor'Kron interpreted.

"He's facing away. Tephra, the stone."

The young warlock took a deep breath and stepped out into the pitiless desert sun. She focused her eyes, made a sharp gesture with one hand- and was yanked into the air by a hungry, coiling rope of energy.

"Kor'Kron! Attack!"

The warriors charged, more of a diversionary tactic than a real advance, and Thrall sprinted behind them. The Warchief roared a challenge and threw down his totems, gaining Ner'zhul's full attention. Saurfang remained hidden, though every muscle tensed with the desire for action.

Jaina stepped into view then, clad entirely in white save for the black cloak. Ner'zhul's attention divided instantly and he stabbed a finger toward her. The energy siphon vanished and Tephra dropped, unconscious, to the sand.

"Her!  _Take her_!" Ner'zhul screeched with triumph and Jaina had only a moment to see, identify, and fear the great dark thing that launched itself at her, golden-lipped maw agape with ghastly brilliance. Jaina teleported without thinking, once, twice, a third time. The Obsidian Destroyer scrabbled and snarled at her heels, twisting its rigid body with uncanny grace as Jaina described a stuttering circle around the beast in hurried flashes of light.

She bared her teeth.  _I need not run from you!_ A circle of jagged ice sprang up around the Destroyer, trapping one hind leg in place as it whirled to follow her. The ice cracked under the strain. Jaina blasted it with a lance of sheer energy but the creature merely shuddered, swallowing up her offering and fixing her with a maddened, opaque gaze.

Before Jaina or the Destroyer knew what was happening, Thrall had vaulted up onto the construct's back and swung his hammer with furious might into the back of its head. The Destroyer teetered, forelegs spasming. Thrall hit it again, sparks and chips of rock flying up from the impact. It staggered and struggled to turn, paws flailing and uncoordinated. It opened its mouth, throat filling with blinding white light and craned its neck around in a way no living creature could survive.

" _Thraaaaall!_ " Jaina teleported, felt her shoulder slam into the Warchief's armour hard enough to make her yelp, and then they were rolling over and over, tangled up in each other. Behind them, a voice that was unequivocally Saurfang's roared in pain. Jaina sat up first, by virtue of having landed on top. She scrambled to her feet, disoriented, and prepared to flee again.

But the Obsidian Destroyer was down, rapidly being turned to rubble under the weapons of the furious Kor'Kron elite, and Ner'zhul was backing away, cursing the cold dead thing.

"You  _missed_!" he raved, "You hit the wrong  _one_! You wasted it- you wasted  _everything_! Damn you!  _Damn_  you!"

Jaina gasped. While the mana-siphon spelled impending doom to a mage, it was no less pleasant for an entirely unmagical Orcish warlord. Saurfang say face-down in the sand directly between the remains of the Obsidian Destroyer, and Jaina and Thrall. Acrid blue smoke rose from his scorched armour.

"Varok!" called Thrall, tripping over his own feet as he scrambled towards the old warrior

"No," whimpered Jaina, following close behind, terrified of what she would find when they turned him over.

"You'll burn for this, Ner'zhul!" bellowed Thrall. He raised the Doomhammer to the pale blue sky and fire spilled from the square between his totems, reflecting crimson in his eyes. Jaina reached Saurfang as Ner'zhul rushed to engage Thrall.

"Varok? High Overlord?" she whispered, attention flicking between Saurfang and the battle.

"I'm fine," he grunted into the sand and slowly levered himself up on one elbow. He spat out a fang. "Go kill that bastard."

She didn't need to be told twice.

"Warcheif Thrall!" called Ner'zhul joyfully, "Lord of the Clans! Come to show me how a  _real_  Orcish shaman fights?"

"Yes," growled Thrall, "I have." He threw his hands in the air, the tower of flame spinning up from his totems expanding wider and wider. It blackened the sand and heated the Destroyer's golden ornaments to liquid red as the flames crept over the fallen construct. Ner'zhul only grinned.

"You have neglected your true calling for too long, son of Durotan," murmured the spirit. "You've lost touch with your  _spiritual_ side. Don't you feel their madness? Can't feel how much they  _loathe_  you, Great Warchief of the Horde?"

"The only madness here is yours, Ner'zhul," Thrall replied grimly as Jaina joined him. They stalked Ner'zhul together.

"All right then, Warchief. Attack me, if you can."

"Begone, demon!" bellowed Thrall and flung his fist out toward the spirit, the pillar of flame blossoming into an inferno. "May the element of fire cleanse you from this land!"

But the fire didn't obey Thrall's gesture. Instead of surging toward Ner'zhul, the pillar collapsed in on itself, flattening and pooling outward. The Kor'Kron scrambled to flee from its burgeoning path and Jaina hastily teleported Saurfang into the lee of the rock formation.

"Stay here," she said firmly and dashed back toward Thrall.

"I don't understand," he hissed, panicked, staring at his hands, "In my meditation last night, the element was distant and unpredictable but not uncontrollable. Fire is like that. But now, it refuses to hear me!"

"What do you mean?" panted Jaina, sweating in the heat of the blaze. She dragged the black cloak off her shoulders and let it drop to the sand.

"I'm not controlling the fire!"

She glanced toward Ner'zhul. He had put a safe distance between himself and Thrall's inferno.

"It's not him," said Thrall, "it's the elements themselves. Something's wrong! They aren't listening and he's right... they're mad with rage!" The Warchief composed himself. "At least I have my hammer. Kor'Kron! To me!"

"And luckily," said Jaina, "my magic asks nothing of the elements." Thrall reached out to stop her, but Jaina had already teleported. She reappeared six inches in front of Ner'zhul and blasted him backward with a ram made of ice. The shattered ghoul flipped end over end, coming to rest in a loose heap at the foot of another rock pile, fifty meters away. Jaina was on him before he could rise. She grabbed the front of his tattered red tunic and hauled him up until they were face to face.

"This is for Earthsinger," she snarled and raised her glowing fist.

"If you destroy this body, I'll just find a new one!" Ner'zhul spat hastily.

"No you won't," said Jaina. "Tephra trapped your spirit in her soul gem."

"Ha!" barked the ghoul, leaning back in defiance, "She didn't have time! My pet stopped her before she finished the spell!"

"No!" said Jaina, more in disbelief than denial. "No, it worked!"

"Kill me. See if I am lying. I have my pick of corpses here," he sneered, "thanks to your lieutenant. Any new body will do, but I have a favourite already." He inclined his head, eyes narrowed to vicious slits, and leaned in to whisper, "Kel'Thuzad should have obeyed your orders this time." Jaina didn't pull away. Her heart began to pound with rising dread.

"Kel'Thuzad did exactly as I told him to," she hissed while her mind scrambled for a solution.  _Tephra failed. He's not soulstoned. If I destroy his body, his spirit is free to do exactly as he described! Where is Kel'Thuzad? Where is he?_

"No he didn't," laughed Ner'zhul, "He never does what you command! You probably instructed him to follow me. He was probably supposed to stay out of sight. But his pride got the better of him, and his desire for revenge. Do you know what he did? He came to me and asked to serve." Jaina bared her teeth and shook the ghoul with both hands, acting more angry than she felt, seeking to distract him.

"Asked to serve? You? Ha!" she barked. "He will never betray me; he cannot!"

Ner'zhul smiled. Jaina recognized the clawmarks disfiguring his features.  _Kel'Thuzad..! What have you done? You attacked Ner'zhul and he is still here, but where are you?_

"You know he can deny you. He has before. He chooses not to. Touching." The ghoul's smile collapsed. "Pathetic."

Jaina used all her strength to slam him back against the rock formation.  _I can't worry about this right now. Without the_ _soulstone, we have no way of containing Ner'zhul's spirit until-!_

"You wouldn't know pathetic if it looked back at your from the mirror!" she seethed and found she barely had to pretend to summon a convincing rage, "What have you done to Kel'Thuzad? Where is he? Where is my lieutenant?" Ner'zhul glanced lazily sideways and Jaina caught a glimpse of something blue and gold. She did an involuntary double-take: Kel'Thuzad's elaborate hat, ripped and charred and hardly recognizable, lay in the sand behind the rocks. Something vengeful stirred in her luminescent eyes.  _Don't think about it don't think about it don't think about it-_ exorcism _!_

"It is only a little more difficult, to take over a body with a pathetic shred of a soul still inside," Ner'zhul snarled.

_He's lying._  Kel'Thuzad's voice was impossibly weak, but she heard him nonetheless. Jaina spat in Ner'zhul's face to cover her momentary surprise and while the ghoul was thrashing and sputtering curses, the lich continued.  _My body is useless to him. I'm too weak and badly damaged. He's trying to make you angry._

**It's working,**  she replied and tightened her grip on the ghoul's tunic.  **Kel'Thuzad,** she thought, **If this doesn't work...**

And then Jaina was gone. Split-second analysis told Kel'Thuzad that she had opened and closed a portal before Ner'zhul could pull free or he could stop her. Half a heartbeat later, Thrall thundered up to the rock formation, Doomhammer in hand. He spun this way and that, looking for Jaina.

Kel'Thuzad pushed himself up on his remaining arm. "She's gone," he managed. "Portal somewhere."

For a moment, the two men stared at each other. The shaman was badly burned on the right side of his face and shoulder. His armour had been blasted away or shed frantically, heated to molten sludge. The rest of his gear was scorched and scored with the Obsidian Destroyer's clawmarks, but he seemed not to notice the wounds.

"Portal where?" demanded Thrall. He crouched, Doomhammer planted heavily in the sand, and leaned over the partially-deconstructed lich. Every bone in Kel'Thuzad's body was broken; a disturbing number of them were missing entirely.

"I don't know," said Kel'Thuzad patiently and struggled to pull himself into a sitting position using only one hand. Although it made no physical sense, he was behaving to Thrall's eyes like a man with a broken spine.

"Well  _find her!_ " ordered the Warcheif. Kel'Thuzad's crimson eyes dimmed briefly, then flared.

"She's in the Plaguelands," he whispered, "At Light's Hope Chapel."


	19. The Limit of Jaina's Mercy

Jaina's decision to take Ner'zhul to Light's Hope Chapel was an act of desperation. When she and Samina had visited Tirion Fordring weeks before, Jaina experienced a subtle, incorporeal force or pressure exerted on her by the holy place. It had not been overtly opposed to her presence at the time, but she had actively chosen not to approach the Chapel closely or use her magic. She had not wanted to strain its benevolence. Since their visit, Jaina had pondered the power of Light's Hope and come to no satisfying conclusion.

She couldn't predict what the power surrounding the Chapel would do with her or with Ner'zhul when they crashed through the portal into the diffuse ochre light of the Plaguelands. Jaina only hoped that if the place took offense to them, whatever retaliation the mysterious force elected to enact happened to Ner'zhul first and worst.

Jaina caught her balance at the last second and reeled. She hadn't taken the time to plan the portal with accuracy and it opened half a meter above the ground. Ner'zhul was not quite so agile. He came through the gateway mid-step and sprawled face-first onto the hard, dusty grass as Jaina twisted out of his reach. She didn't give him a chance to rise, blasting the ghoul with two fistfuls of fire in rapid succession. He shrieked, cloak aflame, and thrashed away from her, rolling vigorously, smearing a trail of flames behind him in the brittle grass.

Running footsteps pounded towards them from the direction of the Chapel, accompanied by startled shouts and the jangle of full armour. She glimpsed the heraldry of the Argent Dawn and the shocked visage of one bearded paladin.

But Jaina registered nothing else as the full judgement of Light's Hope came to bear on her.

The air shrank around her body, prickling and stinging, and the ground beneath her feet surged, shivering like a living thing. Jaina was shaken down onto her hands and knees. Her ears filled with a sensation beyond sound, a cavernous howl of  _power_  that choked away her breath and whited out her vision.

She had been taught that magic was neutral, that only the guidance of a sentient mind could give it purpose or direction, but nothing guided the magic guarding Light's Hope. It surrounded her, hounded her, brought her to bay in moments, not at all neutral or lacking intent. It wanted her punished.

Beneath her fumbling palms, Jaina sensed a ley line. It was thick and livid with energy, radiant in her mind's eye. To her right lay another.  _They meet under the Chapel,_ she realized as she struggled, blind and deaf, Ner'zhul forgotten in the face of self-preservation.  _This is not a coincidence._  The priests and paladins who built the Chapel had chosen the location on purpose.  _Light's Hope is ancient! Is it possible that decades of Light magic has... influenced the magic running through the ley lines?_

Whatever the truth, Light's Hope closed in on Jaina with rampant , she heard someone wailing in agony; the voice was high and ragged and she drew momentary comfort from the knowledge that Ner'zhul was at least as unwelcome as she.

It took a moment, lost in the buffeting, blinding whirlwind of semi-sentient magic, for Jaina to realize that although she was uncomfortable and immobilized, she was not in acute pain. The forces of Light's Hope neutralized her but did not attack.  _Yes!_ she thought,  _I am no enemy! I hold to the wisdom of the Light!_  Jaina forced herself to turn her attention inward. She focused on the parts of herself that the power would celebrate, the deeds she had done in service to the Light, and the magic she possessed free from the shadows of necromancy. She held onto those memories, raised them up for examination by the crushing brilliance surrounding her...

...and found herself abruptly rejected. The Light bore down on her mercilessly, painfully, full of accusation and contempt. Jaina panicked.  _What happened?_ A moment ago the Light had tolerated her presence. And all she had done was show it that she had righteous intentions.  _I need to get out of here!_ But which way? Which way had she been facing when she arrived? Jaina couldn't remember. She had been watching Ner'zhul, not paying attention to her surroundings.

Light's Hope battered her, mind and body. Unconsciousness loomed. Jaina crawled in a circle. One direction had to feel safer than the others- there! Limbs trembling, Jaina shoved herself away from the Light.

* * *

Dying, although impermanent, was humiliating, prolonged, and uncomfortable. It was the largest flaw in Kel'Thuzad's design, as he saw it. He could be resurrected of course, but first he had to die and that never happened with haste. No matter how hard adventurers, paladins, angry Vrykul, or vengeful disciples of Dalaran tried, he was not easy to kill. His human death had been swift; the deaths he had suffered since as a lich had been anything but.

Now, he was half-collapsed in the shade of a boulder, upright only by virtue of his pride and one remaining arm. One of the Obsidian Destroyers had eaten most of the spellwork in his spinal cord. Everything below his floating ribs was numb and useless.

Kel'Thuzad levered himself into a more stable pose and partially listened as the Orcish Warchief ranted at him. He could not have given an impression of lesser interest if he tried. Only about every third word reached him but from what he could gather, Thrall wanted him to make a portal so he could rush to Jaina's aid. It made sense, but Kel'Thuzad didn't have the strength to care. Jaina was fine. He would know if she was not fine. Kel'Thuzad just wanted to hurry up and die.

Thrall gave up and strode off, clearly hatching some new plan since Kel'Thuzad was unresponsive. The lich idly watched little shards of bone flake free of his rib cage and disintegrate into tiny blue sparks. The vision in his left eye flickered out and a shudder ran through him as his sight flattened. Though the desert was virtually empty, his view seemed suddenly cluttered. Kel'Thuzad cocked his head, vaguely curious at the loss of binocular vision.

Another large, Orc-shaped shadow limped into his dimming sight. High Overlord Saurfang looked down at the lich. He seemed thoughtful. Kel'Thuzad wondered if he had the strength to goad Saurfang into attacking him and get this over with.

"How many of them were there before we got here?" asked the retired general. He spoke casually, as though Kel'Thuzad were not minutes from expiring.

"...four," replied the lich, his voice the barest whisper.

Saurfang grunted, apparently impressed. "You're holding what's left of yourself together by will alone. That takes some energy. You have the strength to make a portal for the Warchief."

Kel'Thuzad pondered this for nearly a minute. "How... do you... know?"

"I don't. The warlock told me." He tossed his head in a direction that would have been far too much effort for Kel'Thuzad's gaze to follow.

"...heh," rasped the lich. Trust a warlock to recognize the potential energy still contained in his decaying physical form. Then: "Yes."

Saurfang merely folded his thick arms over his chest and waited.

Kel'Thuzad raised his hand. The gesture was unnecessary but he performed it out of habit. He focused on the air just beyond his trembling fingertips and  _pulled_  at a corner of himself. The lich's bones glowed from within, pits and fractures highlighted like frozen lightning forks. Kel'Thuzad's body crumbled slowly into splinters of light, funneled forward with exquisite focus, as he began to cannibalize his own magic-woven form.

* * *

Thrall supposed it was an awesome thing to behold, the lich decomposing himself into pure energy, a display of sublime arcane understanding and personal control, but he felt only impatience. The portal formed painfully slowly. At first a murky whirlpool of purple mist, it gained size and radiance as Kel'Thuzad ground himself into nothing. He was little more than a misty shade when he smugly whispered, " _Go."_

Thrall paused and made a stiff bow to the frail glowing outline of the lich before he plunged through. The portal lingered briefly, flickered, and then it, and Kel'Thuzad, collapsed into nothing.

The Warchief staggered back as he arrived in the Plaguelands. Although Kel'Thuzad had placed him across the road from the Chapel itself, the heat and light of the drama unfolding before him was nearly overwhelming.

"Jaina!" shouted Thrall, unheard by anyone. He took two rapid steps forward, paused, ran parallel to the road for a few meters, then stopped again.

Thrall knew the tales of Arthas' defeat at Light's Hope. Knights of the Ebon Blade who had witnessed the battle spoke of the force that had prevented the Lich King from taking the Chapel. They had felt it themselves and although it was not focused on the Death Knights, it weakened and threatened them too.

Now, he saw Jaina crouched in a circle of screaming light, facing north toward the sickly forest, paused in the act of rising or collapsing. Her white hair whipped above her like a flame in a gale that Thrall could neither hear nor feel. Light and pale glowing mist streamed upward from her open eyes. One fist clutched the earth, fingers stabbed into the thin soil, the tendons on the back of her hand standing out in sharp relief.

Some distance away from her, closer to the Chapel itself, was a grovelling bundle barely recognizable as Ner'zhul. And at the door of the Chapel stood Tirion Fordring, his mouth carved into a frown, eyes fixed on Jaina.

* * *

Jaina did not see Thrall arrive, or sense him. She did not know that Tirion stood grimly watching her, or that Ner'zhul had given up all pretense at attack and now wished only to crawl away from this sudden nightmare. She was stunned, frozen, held voiceless and helpless as Light's Hope rose against her. It accused her of deception, but she did not know how she could have lied to the place. It burrowed into her every thought and memory.

Her vision abruptly shifted to the grayscale world she saw when wearing the Lich King's helm. This time, there were colours mixed into the innumerable shades of silver. They did not signify people, or parts of the landscape. Rather, they illustrated rivers of rainbow light, magic of complexity and energy that Jaina had never imagined, arched around her and for a moment, the discomfort and the paralysis were gone.

_Jaina Proudmoore is the Lich King._

Yes, this was what it had been like, at the moment she inherited the title and the power from Arthas. She had forgotten it, or had purposefully never examined the memory, tucked it away and ignored it, but this was  _familiar_.The paralysis and pain, the overwhelming show of sheer formidable power, and the inescapable nature of it were all similar to the moment when she knelt beside Arthas, stroking his black cloak.

Now, white fringed her vision. It zoomed inwards, stark and razor-edged, filling her head with a sound-colour that threatened all will and ambition. She felt herself collapse but the sensation was muffled. It tugged at the threads of necromancy woven inextricably through her arcane knowledge.

_Don't take it from me,_ she thought desperately,  _this is what I am! Please!_

And then she understood.

Magic was pure energy, lethal and innocent as lightning. Lightning whirled through her mind, lightning like the stuff shamans called up from hand-made storms. Storms like the Druids summoned, engineered acts of nature at its most awesome and violent and brutal. Brutal as the barbed ropes of black light a Death Knight harnessed to bind their prey. Prey- pray-  _pray_  like the priests, for the souls and bodies of their comrades battered in battle like the unflinching shore. Shore up the flagging spirit of tired troops like a paladin's radiant will. Will like a warlock's, stern and unflinching as they bent vileness to better purpose. _Purpose..._

Everyone worked with magic differently; different disciplines, different races. Their  _purposes_  crossed and re-crossed like the map of invisible ley lines spanning Azeroth. But from a distance, all magic was one.

_Jaina Proudmoore is the Lich King, but..._

_The Lich King is also Jaina Proudmoore._

She heaved a deep breath and sat up, blinking, aware that her hair was full of electricity and her cheeks were flushed with heat. She saw Thrall across the dirt road start toward her. She saw Tirion step out of the Chapel, drawing his sword.

And she saw Ner'zhul, a pathetic, twisted wreck cowering on the grass, unable to move or even to shriek as she glided toward him. Distantly, she realized she was levitating. It was effortless; it was natural. The ghoul managed to bare his teeth at her as she approached.

_"_ Life and death exist together," she said with certainty.

"You shouldn't exist," whispered Ner'zhul, "The Lich King's magic should have killed you, or turned you undead. You're an impossibility!"

"The magic is neutral," she said, "though the Lich King was designed to be a tool of the Burning Legion, the demonlords shape the same magic I do. They gave it a name, but you, then Arthas, were the ones to truly give it  _purpose._  I am not impossible. I have merely given the magic a new purpose. But you..." She moved forward.

Ner'zhul's expression slowly changed from contemptuous to wary. "You're mad. You don't know a thing about the power you wield!"

Jaina squinted. A soulstone could anchor a warlock's soul in this world, and a gem was simply the most compact form for that spell to take.  _What if the spell wasn't entirely compact? What if the form it took wasn't a gem? What if it could be molded to form a body?_ It was almost as clever as a phylactery, but with an obvious drawback.

"What if I kill you and you actually die?"

Jaina raised her right hand and cautiously summoned her magic.

Ner'zhul's eyes widened and he found the strength to scramble back. A look of sincere fear began to form on his features.

"I can't die!" he spat. There was more incredulity than denial in his words. "I  _can't die_!"

"Is that how it is, then?" replied Jaina, ignoring his panic. "Arthas thought he had destroyed you, but you had this golem waiting for you? This body made of grave dust and magic to receive your soul one last time?" Jaina's fingertips began to glint and sparkle like glacial ice. "How modest and unassuming it is. How very clever. I didn't know you. Tirion didn't know you. Even Kel'Thuzad didn't know you." She stalked towards him, her eyes slowly filling up with terrible light.

"I will leave," he said quickly, "Go wherever you tell me. Leave you alone. I have suffered so greatly- have  _mercy_  on me, Lady Proudmoore."

"No," she said.

Almost of its own volition, the spell exploded from her hands, a cataclysm of ice, silver and blue and prismatic, a thousand multi-faceted blades with the weight of Icecrown glacier rushing behind them. Ner'zhul did not collapse or scream and if he tried to shield himself, the effort was in vain. Jaina's spell reduced the ghoul's body to a fine mist of grease and water. There was hardly any sound to it.

Jaina watched the cracked soil slowly absorb what few nutrients and minerals the old spirit's make-shift body had been rendered to. After a moment, she let her feet touch the ground. Light's Hope pressed in, perhaps neutral, perhaps approving.

_No one would think less of you if you fainted right here,_  purred Kel'Thuzad. He sounded very distant, but stronger than before, and full of pride.

**I have no intention of fainting,**  she replied tartly. She only felt the calm of a job well-finished settling into her bones. The blazing light and colours of magic began to retreat; the physical world reasserted itself at the edges of her vision.

To her left stood Tirion Fordring with his naked blade and a look of sorrowful determination on his face. To her right, she heard Thrall's heavy footsteps. They both glowed in her peripheral vision, different colours, blue and yellow, quickly fading.

"You have committed murder on holy ground," said the paladin sadly and raised his sword. Jaina folded her hands before her.

"Yes; I killed a man," she acknowledged, serene. "His name was Ner'zhul." Thrall stepped in front of her, Doomhammer in hand but pointed at the ground. Tirion's blade faltered.

" _What?_ " he breathed, glancing from Thrall to Jaina.

"I will speak with you about the future of our relationship, Highlord," she said. Tirion frowned, uncertain.

"But Arthas killed Ner'zhul," he began.

Thrall shook his head. "Highlord Fordring, I thought as you did. But his spirit was unmistakeable, no matter what body it wore."

Tirion stroked his beard.

Jaina found she was clenching her jaw. "You will never trust my word, will you?" she said flatly. The lingering touch of Light's Hope and its mingled ley lines muted the accusation she meant to utter with those words. "I have never been your enemy, Tirion, but you cannot see past this title. It swallowed me up the moment I gained it, didn't it?"

"I cannot see past the choices you have made beneath the burden of that title."

"It is no burden," she replied softly. "Tirion, this place has judged many and loosed frightening condemnation on them when they were found to be corrupt. Why am I able to stand here with you, uncontested?"

The paladin's frown deepened. "I do not know."

" _I_  do," Jaina replied. "It's because  _I_  haven'tfailed. I am honest about what lives inside me. It isn't the Lich King's powers, Tirion, it's my intent that this place reads. It knows me better than you do and it only just met me. Do you trust Light's Hope?"

"The magic here is strong and perhaps it can look into the hearts of those who trespass upon it and judge their intentions, as you say, but it cannot see the future, Jaina." Tirion was shaking his head slowly, sadness and a quiet anger in his expression.

"The future is shaped by our intentions, Highlord Fordring," said Thrall, frowning, "These things are one and the same."

"I cannot see a future in which a necromancer and a paladin are allies," Tirion replied flatly.

Jaina was astonished by the finality in his voice. She could think of no reply; she had hoped that this would be a discussion, perhaps even an argument, but instead it felt like throwing her words at an iron door. She swallowed audibly but couldn't form a reply. Beside her, Thrall turned the Doomhammer over and over in his hands.

"I never figured you for a pessimist, Highlord," said the Warchief finally.

"What?"

"You're a good man, who has been dealt tragedy and misfortune. But it's made you a pessimist." Thrall clapped a heavy hand on Jaina's shoulder. "Come, Lady King," he said, "there was a time when I would not have kept company with a warlock, or a human. If you wish to speak about the future, I will hear you out, but we have wounded to heal and stories to share."

Thrall turned his back on Tirion and started toward the road. Jaina remained.

"If you ever have need of me, Tirion, I will be in the North."

Before he could reply, she turned and followed Thrall. She drew a portal in the middle of the road and did not look back again.

* * *

Time passed strangely for the dead. Kel'Thuzad had no inkling how long it took for Jaina to explain herself, to take leave of Light's Hope, and then finally heed his disembodied voice. He spent the time tracking down his phylactery. It was much easier as an incorporeal thing, severed from the living world, to discover where Ner'zhul had hastily secreted the Helm of Domination.

Kel'Thuzad was drawn to its purpose. He circled the artifact in agitation, impatient to rise and learn what had transpired at Light's Hope.

**What part of** _ **reconnaisance**_ **did you misunderstand?** Jaina's voice was sharper and stronger when Kel'Thuzad was dead, unavoidable and compelling.

_I had a better idea. I gave Ner'zhul a distraction; I let him believe I would betray you._

**'Better' ideas don't get you killed!**

_It's only temporary,_ he argued.

**It's permanent until I decide it isn't,** she snapped and Kel'Thuzad winced. Well, he  _had_ expected her to be a little irritated by his deviation from her plans.

_I await your favour,_ he replied brightly. Jaina said nothing, though he got the notion she was glaring daggers at empty air, wherever she was.

There was a long pause in conversation.

**How?** Jaina asked eventually. She was nearer to his location now, back in Silithus and traveling slowly, but she was distracted and... sad.  _For Ner'zhul?_  Kel'Thuzad wondered.  _Surely not._ **How did you convince Ner'zhul you would betray me?**

_He thought we shared some affection for each other. I encouraged him to believe it was one-sided on your part and unwanted on mine._

**How much 'affection', exactly?**

_Apparently we don't treat each other as master and servant should do._

**No, we don't, but- what did you tell him?** As Kel'Thuzad considered his answer, Jaina appeared in the distance, on foot. She was flanked by the bulky shapes of Orcish warriors and by the way they were walking, they were all dead tired.

_I told him something that sounded convincing. He's dead; he won't be repeating it._

Presently, the little caravan arrived at the ruined Twilight's Hammer camp. Their pace slowed as the state of the site became apparent: Kel'Thuzad's massacre of the doomsday cultists painted the noonday desert in vivid hues. High Overlord Saurfang gazed around the carnage impassively but the Kor'Kron warriors were clearly unnerved by the blood pooling atop already soaked sand. Jaina was actively not looking.

Thrall, however, was looking directly at Kel'Thuzad, frowning.

"Hello, Warchief. Didn't I tell you that she would be safe, with or without your aid?" said the lich. It was something of a surprise to discover that he was visible to the Orcish leader, but then, shamans were known to converse with spirits and Kel'Thuzad was, technically speaking, a spirit.

"You didn't tell me anything of the sort," replied Thrall. He looked as though he were deciding whether to be amused or annoyed.

"Hmm. I must have intended to keep that thought to myself."

"Why?" grumbled Jaina, "You're so free with the rest of your opinions." Thrall's expression settled on amusement.

"Perhaps I thought it was obvious," returned Kel'Thuzad. "Ner'zhul thought he was bringing a gun to a knife-fight, while Jaina brought... well,  _herself_." The look he got from the Lich King could have curdled lava, but Thrall cracked a smile.

**The link between us looks different from the outside, I suppose,**  she said to him, continuing to glare as she made her way towards the bundle of oily rags at the back of a hovel that concealed the Helm of Domination.

_Of course._

**Yet, Ner'Zhul was the Lich King once. He knew about the bond; he experienced it first-hand. Perhaps he was too involved in his own plans at the time for the intimacy of it to affect him?**

_No,_  replied Kel'Thuzad.  _He was too weak._  Jaina slowly unbound the Helm from its wrappings, gaze not quite settling on its planes and angles though she studied it thoroughly.  _Ner'zhul wasn't strong enough to do more than give me commands and monitor my location. He was never in contact with me the way you have been._ She tucked the Helm under her arm and paused, surveying the ruined camp, its deceased occupants, and tell-tale heraldry.

**I suppose it could look like a love affair,**  she said thoughtfully.  **I know you cared for Arthas. I know he trusted you above all others. Even your enemies could see the bond you had.** Jaina picked her way clear of the debris and death.  **I heard the captains of the Argent Dawn, uh, speak about it more than once.**

_I'm sure it was all highly flattering and in exquisite good taste._ He followed her, soundlessly, effortlessly.

**It doesn't bear repeating,**  said Jaina delicately.

_They may say the same of you,_  Kel'Thuzad cautioned.

Jaina turned to look at him and he realized they were of a height for once. Perhaps it was some unconscious desire of his to match her stature just for the time being, or perhaps it was some influence of hers over the Helm. No wonder Thrall looked so amused.

**You are a wise teacher and, when you aren't being intentionally aggravating, a good friend,** she said.  **What the Argent Dawn- or anyone else- says about you and I is irrelevant to the truth. I suppose such rumours are just another aspect of this office.**

_You could always throw me in the dungeon._

**I doubt that would make fewer rumours.**

_No, but they would become a lot more interesting._

Jaina shut her eyes for a second, counted to five, and opened them, attempting and then giving up on a pointed glare at Kel'Thuzad.

"Let's go home," she said with a sigh.

* * *

All Jaina wanted to do when they returned to the Citadel was retreat to her chambers, curl up in bed and be alone. She had done things that she urgently needed to process with logic and without interruption. But it was not to be. There were injuries to treat, Thrall's worrisome interaction with the fire elementals to ponder and of course, the part of hostess and tour guide to play. She gave the resurrection of Kel'Thuzad over to his Thuzadin and then managed to solve two more problems at once by introducing Thrall, Saurfang and the Kor'Kron to Imuruk. The Nerubian was beside himself with curiosity over Thrall, and his questions and general attitude put the rest of the warriors at ease in his presence as he attended their injuries.

Jaina excused herself, heading to Kel'Thuzad's lab for his debriefing on the events in Silithus, but halfway there, Samina caught up with her.

"My Lady," she said with a crisp bow, "the Taunka ambassador arrived in your absence. I showed him to your office."

"I have an office?"

"Ah, well, the ante-chamber to your bedroom, then. It looks like an office."

Jaina groaned inwardly. "Thank you, Lady Sugarhill," she said. Samina nodded and left. Jaina paused on the landing, unbound her hair and combed her fingers through it, attempting to shake out some of the sand. She re-braided it as she hastened to the unexpected meeting.

The Taunka man in her 'office' was young, muscular, and apparently shedding his thick white winter coat. As soon as she entered, she felt the urge to sneeze. She fought it with as much dignity as she could.

"Lady Proudmoore," he said enthusiastically, sweeping her extended hand into his enormous grip. "I am Tjorn, son of Aja. I am honoured to be chosen for this honour." He tossed his head, chiding himself for his awkward speech. "Forgive me. I am saddened to find myself replacing Earthsinger, but I am also excited to take her place." He bowed, one hand on his furry chest, the other still grasping hers with delicate pressure.

Jaina inclined her head in agreement, still fighting back a sneeze. "I too am terribly saddened by Earthsinger's death, Ambassador Tjorn. I welcome you to Icecrown Citadel. I fear your arrival has come at a rather turbulent time."

Tjorn straightened, adopting a serious expression, and flared his nostrils. "Lady Sugarhill spoke to me of the evil spirit." He snorted in a rather threatening manner.

"Well, we needn't worry over him any longer. I apologize, Ambassador, I am a poor conversationalist at the moment, but I am happy to listen. What news from your people?"

Tjorn took Jaina at her strict word, entirely missing her subtle attempt to escape into solitude. For the next half hour, they sat together in the little ante-chamber while Tjorn expostulated on the various political, industrial, social, and spiritual adventures of the Taunka people. To his credit, there was a genuine exuberance to his narrative which made him engaging to hear. However, he also had a particularly lateral manner of thinking, wherein his tangents had tangents and Jaina found herself politely cutting them off and steering him back on topic more than once.

Eventually, Jaina managed to interest him in meeting the Citadel's other denizens and after a flurry of introductions, she left Tjorn in the kitchen with Starkweather's construction crew and several now-rowdy Kor'Kron. She slipped away, feeling worn.

She should have gone to Kel'Thuzad's lab then, but found herself climbing the stairs rather than descending them. In minutes, Jaina stood before the Frozen Throne. Her black cloak was gone, lost in Silithus, but the air was changing, growing ever milder, so even at this height she needed only wrap her arms around herself to keep comfortable. The weather was changing too; the impenetrable, glowering darkness was diluted. Although the sun still set below the horizon, it seemed more and more reluctant every night.

Jaina had not come up here in many months. What reason could she have to visit this place? It was a monument to ego and madness and cruelty, and Jaina didn't need a throne, especially not one carved out of ice.

Carefully, she arranged her skirts and sat down cross-legged at the foot of the throne, facing west. The sky was indigo above and orange below, colours that seemed contradictory until witnessed together. Where they transitioned into each other, it was not so much a blending as two separate, clear hues, viewable simultaneously.

Jaina was alone for the time being. Thrall, Saurfang and the Kor'Kron were occupied. Tjorn and Samina were chatting when Jaina left them. Kel'Thuzad was quiet and she could feel him shielding their link from his end. Whether it was for her benefit or his, she couldn't tell. Perhaps here the crisp wind and endless vista would inspire some clarity about the events at Light's Hope, but the longer she sat, the more she realized that it was not to be.

It still felt like a dream she had woken from abruptly, a vivid, moving dream that grew ever more distant the harder she clutched at its memory.

Defeated, Jaina went back inside.

"So, I hear I missed  _another_  fight."

Jaina turned and found Anu'Shukhet approaching from the direction of the Oratory, Imuruk at her side.

"It turned out to be a little one-sided," said Jaina.

"Hmm. Yes. So I've been told. You have the respect of the Nerubian Empire for your deed this day, Lady King." Anu'Shukhet bowed.

"I am honoured," said Jaina, curtsying in return. "What brings you so far from your soldiers, General?"

"Curiosity. I came to hear the tale of your struggle to victory. But now I think that you do not have one to share."

Jaina swallowed a sigh. "I killed Ner'zhul. It was necessary and I don't regret it."

Anu'Shukhet waited. "However..." she urged finally, when Jaina had stayed silent for too long.

"Come, let us find a more hospitable setting," said Jaina.

There were only so many places in the Citadel that were accessible to someone of Anu'Shukhet's size. The trio returned to the Oratory, to the far side where the original fixtures of the grand room remained intact. There was a bank of fireplaces and someone had thoughtfully, though haphazardly, pushed several undamaged couches within conversational distance of each other.

"Tirion Fordring was my friend," Jaina said at last, settling onto a darkly-upholstered couch. "I admired him, I admired all of the Argent Dawn. I trusted that Tirion's goodness and faith in the Light would always guide him to make righteous choices." She fidgeted with her skirts. "Even when I went to see him, even when I realized that he assumed I would fail to be- to  _remain-_  a good person under the influence of the Lich King's power... I thought because we had been friends, that our alliance might continue. When I stood on the grounds of Light's Hope Chapel and interacted with the old magic present there, its only judgment of me came when I was not wholly truthful with it. I told it of my service to the Light, but.. _._  It knew I was concealing something, some aspect of myself, and attacked me."

As she spoke, Jaina began to recall more details of the experience. Her talk with Tirion afterward had all but wiped out the moment of epiphany that lead her to destroy Ner'zhul so effortlessly.

"I realized that as much as I am forever bound to the Lich King's power, so too is it bound to  _me_. It has to operate through me; I am the lens that focuses it. I told Light's Hope that I was  _Jaina Proudmoore_ and it let me be. It wanted honesty, I think. It wanted me to acknowledge the darker qualities of the Lich King's power, as well as my own good intentions. I am both of those things, and they are inseparable."

Imuruk cocked his head, amber eyes quizzical. "Forgive my rudeness but, how had this not occurred to you earlier?"

"Well, I- it just- maybe it should have," Jaina sighed, "but it  _didn't_ , not to any of us, not in any profound, well-understood way. I  _accepted_  what I was, thoroughly accepted it eventually, but I thought I had been changed when really, all I had done was... learn a new spell." She shrugged, turned her hands over, looking at the soft pink palms. "It- it didn't change  _me_  or even my abilities, only the circumstances surrounding me. All I had to do was adapt." Jaina let her hands fall into her lap. "All any of us had to do was adapt. Tirion can't."

"You walked unharmed on sacred ground," said Imuruk. "What does he need to see to be convinced?"

Jaina shook her head. "I don't know. I wanted to maintain my allegiance to the Argent Dawn but... I broke it. Peacefully." She looked up to see neither surprise nor confusion in the Nerubian's postures. "I am no longer a friend of the order. I will be treated as a neutral party, without privilege or hospitality."

Anu'Shukhet exhaled sharply. "Paladins."

"What do you know of them?" said Jaina, an edge to her voice. Anu'Shukhet fixed her with one blazing green eye.

"I know they called us 'beasts' when we fought them."

Jaina winced inwardly. Even now, after all her interactions with the sect of living Nerubians, she sometimes forgot they were as intelligent and capable as every other sentient race- moreso, in some arenas- because of their thoroughly non-humanoid appearance.

Anu'Shukhet was nodding. "Yes, I see you understand this now. You are just as easily judged as I am." She abruptly reached out and tapped Jaina's knee with the side of her enormous clawed forelimb. "You have our allegiance, Lady King. Compared to the might of the Nerubian empire, what can the Argent Dawn offer you?"

Jaina found her soul warmed despite the sorrow that still tugged at her heart. "You make a compelling argument, Anu'Shukhet. I am humbled by the friendship you and Imuruk have offered me. Truly. You had every right to hate me but you gave me a chance to prove myself."

She felt the ache of tears welling in her eyes and blinked them back. Tirion Fordring had once given an orcish warrior the chance to prove he was not a monster, had risked his life and his family's good standing to defend the other man's honour.  _Perhaps there are only so many times a person has the strength to hope so wildly,_ she thought.  _Or perhaps... perhaps hoping that I would remain the woman he knew was too painful. Perhaps it was easier to decide I was lost and come to terms with it before it happened. Oh, Tirion..._

Jaina bit her lip and looked up. She observed Anu'Shukhet, settled in dignified repose on the thick purple carpet, and Imuruk, curled comfortably against her side with casual familiarity; her strange, unexpected companions.  _They have lived on wild hope. I swear to the Light, I will never betray that hope._

"On the topic of our allegiance," continued Anu'Shukhet, watching Jaina struggle to keep her composure, "I have good news. Our young Queen wishes to open official lines of trade with the surface. Not only with Icecrown Citadel, but with any species that we have not completely frightened off. She would like you to speak on our behalf."

"I'm flattered by her offer," Jaina managed, forcibly cramming the lump in her throat back down. "Though I am still working on getting the other species of Northrend to trust  _me._ "  _I will never betray your hope, Anu'Shukhet. You, who gave me a chance to show my colours without deciding my fate beforehand._

"Then be pragmatic in your approach. If we are united, would it not be more beneficial to the other communities if they were on our side?"

Jaina quirked a smile. "Yes, but I will find less threatening words when I present that argument."

"That is your gift, not mine." Anu'Shukhet chuckled and fluttered her rear wings. They failed to fold back correctly and Imuruk reached over, tucking the ragged pinions gently beneath her battle-scarred elytra. "There is another matter, one which you and your lieutenant are uniquely suited to address."

"That is?"

"There are those among my people who wish to study necromancy."

Jaina had a sudden, vivid vision of the Scholomance. "No," she said immediately.

"You referred to your abilities as one of the parts of yourself that did not change upon becoming the Lich King," said Imuruk. "Would it not follow that other mages with good intentions could learn necromancy for practical reasons without automatically becoming corrupted?"

Jaina chewed on the argument. "I..." she began and then fell silent.  _I cannot say this isn't reasonable. It's my own argument!_  "I had a unique perspective at Light's Hope. Pure magic is all one;  _we_  divide it into light and dark, fire and ice, healing and harm. That is what I meant when I said my abilities had remained unchanged. Essentially, I alwayshad the ability to command necromancy, I simply didn't... understand that I could." She shook her head. "It's more than just good intentions though, which, in my experience, can be quickly overtaken by the schemes of others if not formed solidly enough. No, I don't want to risk such an under-taking." Then she added: " _Yet_. Let me talk to Kel'Thuzad and see if he would be willing."

Anu'Shukhet snorted in amusement. " _Please_. Give that man a captive audience and he's yours for life."

"I wasn't aware that you knew him so well...wait. Imuruk spies for you, doesn't he?" said Jaina, narrowing her eyes at the shaman.

"If it helps, his lack of guile is genuine." Anu'Shukhet crooked her claw affectionately around his torso.

Jaina hid a smile behind her hand. "But let  _me_  make the proposal."

"Let me find out what my people wish to study, and we can re-visit the idea. Now, I should be getting back underground. It is good to speak with you, Lady King."

"Jaina."

"Lady Jaina."

"All right. Good night, General."

"Good night."

Anu'Shukhet took her leave, but Imuruk stayed.

"If, as you say," he began, "that all magic is one and we are-" Imuruk paused. A brief tremor passed through the foundation of the Citadel, so swiftly that Jaina wasn't sure she had actually felt anything.

"What was that?"

"An earthquake," the shaman affirmed, surprised, suddenly alert. "But not here. Far away." It was as though someone had dropped something heavy in the next room. Jaina re-settled herself.

"As you were saying, then?"

"If we are the ones who divide magic into disciplines, couldn't we- um-  _un-divide_  it?"

Jaina shrugged. "Perhaps, with study and practice. I only saw the truth at Light's Hope, not the path."

"Fascinating," said Imuruk in a way that suggested she was going to run across the shaman in hushed, urgent conversation with Kel'Thuzad sometime soon.

The Citadel vibrated a second time, a distant, muffled shifting. Imuruk flinched and began to wring his lower set of hands.

"I do not wish to alarm you, but there is something amiss, my Lady," he said vaguely. "Warchief Thrall touched part of it in Silithus. I... We must speak again."

Jaina bowed to him. "Share what you learn, please, Imuruk."

"Of course, Lady Jaina." He hurried off deeper into the Citadel, seeking Thrall.

Jaina took a deep breath and let it out slowly, shuddering only a little.

* * *

Kel'Thuzad did not particularly enjoy coming back to life in a room full of people, even if those people were his Thuzadin. He fought to hold himself in a commanding posture, and dismissed the pack of necromancers as soon as he remembered how to make verbal speech. The moment they vacated, he slumped forward against the counter, leaning heavily on his elbows.

Jaina found him thus when she arrived.

"I know how you feel," she said wearily and before he could reply or pull himself into a more respectable pose, she collapsed onto a stool at his side, leaned back against the counter, and shut her eyes. Kel'Thuzad hissed softly in agreement.

For several minutes, the laboratory was empty but for the quiet draw of Jaina's breath, and the muted clink of chains as they swayed above Kel'Thuzad's back.

"Kel'Thuzad?"

"Yes, my King?"

"Has anyone accused you of being uncharacteristically...  _nice_ since you've been in my service?"

The lich answered with a dry laugh.

"Do you know how many people you killed this morning?" she said. He raised his head to look down at her. She still had her eyes closed.

"I can't say with certainty. Did you count them? There were more to the south and past the gates of Ahn'qiraj," he replied. Jaina's brows furrowed.

"Ner'zhul ordered you to do it, didn't he."

"Yes."

Kel'Thuzad waited for her to elaborate on the train of thought, but she fell silent.

"Anu'Shukhet wants us to train some of her people in necromancy."

Kel'Thuzad's head came up too quickly and he swayed unsteadily in the air. "And you're considering allowing this?"

Jaina nodded once, eyes unfocused on the opposite wall. "Believe it or not."

"Why?"

"For many of the same reasons I asked you to teach me. Because we need to understand how necromancy works, because we need to know ways of countering it, and because it may have useful qualities."

"And you trust the Nerubians to use this knowledge according to your morals?" he asked, genuinely curious.

Jaina bit her lip and looked down at her lap. "We've built an unexpected allegiance. I know we don't agree on all issues, but their experiences with the Scourge and with humans should have made us enemies. We aren't. I... I want to extend them the same benefit of doubt that Anu'Shukhet and her soldiers showed me."

Kel'Thuzad made a derisive noise. "My King, you shouldn't allow this because you feel that you owe them something. Allow it because you believe it is of value."

"I do believe-"

"No, you're settling a debt. The benefit to you or them is secondary."

"You're misunderstanding," Jaina returned, "I'm not giving them something for nothing- Light knows you'll make them work for it-"

"Me?!"

"-I'm giving them information and showing that I trust them with it."

"So it's a test."

"Did you really hate having students so much?" Jaina needled.

"Only the willfully ignorant ones. For the record, I think this is an ill-conceived idea."

"I can't believe we're having this argument."

"You assumed I would be thrilled by the chance to corrupt a generation of Nerubian sorcerers?"

"No," said Jaina, "I can't believe I'm the one in favour and you're the one against."

Kel'Thuzad shook his head. "Oh Tirion, if only you could see us now."

Jaina tossed a sardonic half-grimace over her shoulder. "Your concern has been noted. I only told her I'd think on it." She got to her feet, covering a yawn with one hand. "Now, if anything world-shaking happens between here and my chamber, I'm going to ignore it and you have my permission to deal with it any way you see fit."


	20. Something Wicked This Way Comes

Jaina had been in meetings for most of the day, breaking only to eat. She hadn't planned it that way. It just happened, what with so many people in the Citadel. Tjorn needed briefing, Samina wanted details on Jaina and Tirion's short conversation at Light's Hope, Saurfang asked for a tour of the Citadel, and Starkweather wanted to discuss the acquisition and price of building materials. Between official discussions, she began to organize her 'office' into an actual office.

By the time Jaina had run out of distractions and situations and interruptions, she had forgotten what her initial goals for the day were. The earth reminded her with a brisk shudder.

Jaina gasped, seizing the edge of her desk more from surprise than from any real need to stabilize herself. "Yes, thank you," she muttered at the untrustworthy ground, "I need to speak with Thrall."

She found the Warchief in the Oratory, along with Imuruk. Both men wore expressions of grave concern.

"I feel as though I am always one step behind where I should be," said Thrall, brow furrowed. "I should have been in Northrend when I was in Orgrimmar. Now, I should be in Outland, but I am in Northrend."

"In Outland?" asked Jaina, momentarily confused.

"Training with the Mag'har shamans," he elaborated. "Whatever is causing these tremors is beyond my current ken."

Jaina turned to Imuruk. "Have you any idea? This is your land."

Imuruk fluttered his upper set of hands. "It is... hazy. The element of earth is restive, but I cannot see why. Whatever the reason, it is something that affects all of the elements, though the earth feels it most keenly, and that is unusual."

"Is there a way to soothe it?" asked Jaina, fearing for the structural integrity of her recently-repaired Citadel.

Thrall shook his head slowly. "That is the most disturbing part of this, Jaina. The elements are becoming distant, stubborn, difficult to contact and control. You saw what happened in Silithus when I called the fire." He grimaced. "That the  _earth_  is the worst affected alarms me. It is normally the most stoic element but I almost sense... fear."

"I thought the elements weren't sentient," said Jaina, once again perplexed.  _And to think, for a moment I understood all magic in the garden at Light's Hope._

"Not sentient, per se," explained Imuruk, "but perhaps with an animal sort of awareness. The elementals that we call, or that roam the wild places, are blessed with a limited consciousness. Something more instinctive than we possess, but still very capable of knowing fear."

This assertion lingered at the back of Jaina's mind for the next several days, then retreated under the weight of other duties. Weeks passed, filled with paperwork, decisions, compromises, meetings, and evenings spent studying necromancy. The tremors continued, irregularly. Some days they came in little flocks, so slight that after a while, Jaina didn't register them. Sometimes there would be a bigger, more alarming one, followed by days of stillness.

Spring began and ended in the same week, and summer exploded in the north with a frenzy of life. Though nothing grew on the glacier itself, every pocket of dirt in the surrounding mountains, in the Vrykul villages, in the cracks and corners of the Citadel itself, began to bear life. Jaina found a little purple crocus growing in her windowsill, clinging to grains of soil blown into the crevice by fierce southern winds.

Jaina found herself working tirelessly during the long days of summer. So long as the sun was up, her mind and body pressed on. She wondered at her own productivity and stamina, and remembered her lethargy and despair during the dark months of winter. Was this a product of the environment, or coincidental with her own confidence?

As the solstice approached, the tremors increased.

Starkweather had his hands full. He assessed the foundation of the Citadel and its outbuildings, then Jaina sent him 'round to each of the great gates on the glacier, those that had not been torn down and cannibalized for materials. Finally, she sent him to the Ironwall Dam.

The dam was an ambitious and, to Jaina's mind, entirely useless, piece of architecture. It blocked all but a trickle of the Twilight Rivulet as it emerged from the toe of Icecrown glacier into the valley below. The glacier itself pressed against Ironwall with inexorable pressure, but Jaina had paid the dam little attention until now.

Starkweather's report was positive: the dam was intact, though Jaina worried that an earthquake strong enough to be felt through the glacier itself had the potential to damage the dam. Starkweather showed her diagrams of its construction; it had been built to integrate the eastern foot of the same mountain range Icecrown Citadel nestled against. Huge iron beams had been drilled deep into the rock to anchor the dam on either side, and into the bedrock beneath the glacier. This satisfied Jaina. Ironwall was nigh invulnerable.

The day of solstice arrived. Some of the denizens of Northrend celebrated it with food, activities, and dance, but none of them had invited the Lich King to their ceremonies. Jaina tried unsuccessfully not to feel disappointed, though she was coordinating a trade agreement between the Taunka, the Nerubians, and her kingdom, and it was just as well she had the day to herself.

The day drew on, to a point where settlements further south would have seen sunset, and Jaina found herself free of obligations. Just as she was preparing to retire to her chamber and indulge in an unclaimed romance novel she had found in the kitchen, there was a sharp rap at her door. Jaina answered and found a goblin postal worker.

"Your Majesty," said the wild-haired little woman and handed Jaina a letter. "Have a good day, Ma'am." She was gone before Jaina could thank her.

The letter was from Thrall, in Outland, and it was marked 'URGENT'. Clearly it had taken some time to reach her and judging by the stained and crumpled envelope, it had seen some excitement along the way. The letter began without preamble.

_Dear Jaina,_

_Last night, I dreamed._

_I dreamed of a forge, standing in a black no-place, glowing fiercely, wider and taller than the gates of Orgrimmar. Between myself and this forge rested an anvil as long as a ship, and on the anvil lay a piece of hot metal. Teams of figures beat the iron with runed hammers._

_I turned from the forge, overcome by the breathless heat, and rested my eyes in the darkness. As I stood and listened, I grew aware of a familiar feeling, sort of like a smell but not something physical. You know what I mean- when someone begins casting a spell, and you can tell by the 'smell' of the spell that they are a warlock or a druid or a priest before they finish casting. Well, I am an orc and a shaman, and I know the earth of Azeroth. This place I was in was not in some fictitious dream-place and though it looked like I was underground- deep, deep underground- it reeked of elemental magic._

_I think I was in Deepholm, the elemental plane of Earth._

_After a while, with my back to the forge, my eyes began to register shapes in the darkness. There were scurrying figures and the vague lines of scaffolding. Some of the figures looked broad and short, like dwarves. I wondered at this. There were dwarven shamans once. Perhaps there will be again. But this place- if it was Deepholm, then what were they doing with hammers and pickaxes and a forge? Were they mining the plane?!_

_But, Jaina, no mine ever held such a sense of ominous malice. I cannot describe it any more accurately than this: simply, I was in the presence of unequivocal evil, and I could not understand at first why I felt this._

_The dream shifted and I found myself with a different vantage point, high above the forge on a flimsy catwalk. Below me, illuminated in disjointed glimpses to the beat of a hundred hammers, was an enormous shape. I cannot describe it any better. What I saw did not make sense, then or now. At first I took it to be some huge, armoured machine but it appeared to move with a will and, I think, no matter how mad this sounds, that it was alive and in pain._

_Then the forge fell dark and the hammers ceased. I could see nothing. Below me in the pit, the armoured thing moved and I know this only because of the sound of the iron plates grinding together. It began to move, and then it began to scream._

_When I woke, I shared my dream with my grandmother. It was still vivid in my senses: the smell of iron and sweat, the sharp, coarse grain of the stone as I ran my hand along the cliff wall, the piercing glow of molten metal in the dark. As I described what I had seen, she began to frown. By the end of my telling, she looked so worried that my voice faltered. She asked me about the details and I was surprised by how well I could remember them; my visions have behaved like dreams in the past, disintegrating when inspected, leaving only an impression of their existence. But this vision was crisp and bold._

_I will tell you now what my grandmother told me. She said, "This is no premonition, Go'el. It is no future that you see in your dreams but the present. Whatever is happening in Deepholm, it is happening_ now. _"_

_Whatever this is, I think it has been happening for years and I am certain it is the reason for the recent quakes and the fearfulness of the elements._

_Just now, as I have been writing this to you, I have remembered something more. The end of the dream became blurry and confused. I believe that was when it shifted from the present and became a premonition._

_I saw the earth break and collapse and something rose swiftly out of the chasm. I don't know what it was but it flew up and wheeled around in the sky, trailing a black smudge. It went south, very quickly. I know it was south because I felt relief; Orgrimmar is to the west and you are to the north, so despite its evil, it was not targeting those that I care about._

_I had this dream last night. I hope that by the time my letter reaches you, it is not too late to prepare. For what, I cannot say but I beg you to be on your guard. Share my words with the shaman Imuruk. Something terrible is rising on Azeroth._

_Your friend,_

_Thrall_

_P.S. I shall send another, less dramatic letter next week. I must tell you about this infernal (but brilliant) woman my grandmother has found to teach me. She hates humans and it'll irritate the hell out of her to know I'm writing to you._

Jaina showed the letter to Imuruk. He read it, chewed thoughtfully on the tip of a claw in silence for a long moment, then re-read it, quiet all the while.

"I don't like this," he said finally. "Your friend is a powerful shaman, a powerful seer. But there is nothing we can do except wait and listen. We need more information, for I have nothing to add."

They waited for months. Thrall wrote letters but had no further visions on the subject. Imuruk meditated, researched, and prowled beneath the glacier to no avail.

Summer dimmed to autumn. Autumn was swiftly overwhelmed by winter. Once again, Jaina plunged into short hours of light, and dark, frigid nights. The wind howled like a hunting thing around the edges of her window casement. Somehow, it didn't seem as bad as the previous year. She was settled; she was busy. She knew how to navigate the shrieking wind and driving snow. She had clothes and spells that protected her, and Jaina decided she didn't hate the cold.

She and Thrall kept up their communication, watching and waiting in their separate ways, theorizing and speculating on the earthquakes and Thrall's vision. They tried to exchange letters on a weekly basis, or as close to weekly as weather and the intrepid postal service allowed them to. Eventually, the topic of conversation veered away from Azeroth's restless crust and on to Thrall's short-tempered but apparently brilliant shamanic instructor.

_Her name is Aggra. She's brutal. I spent the first month thinking that she hated me. It didn't matter to her that I had been Warchief, that I had fought Mannoroth alongside Grom, or battled on Mount Hyjal against Archimonde. I fought with a hammer, without aid of the elements, and I went by the name the humans gave me. And I have human friends._

_But then one day, her mate came to me and told me that she was kindest to the pupils with the least promise. He said that, with the way she was driving me, I must be the greatest shaman on Azeroth. It sounds like a compliment but I think that, objectively, it's truth might be my undoing. I can't do anything right enough for this woman. I take back every eye-roll and snort of disbelief I ever uttered when you complained about the professors you had in Dalaran. Good teachers are unrelenting demons._

Jaina chuckled to herself in a moment of thorough schadenfreude.

The anniversary of her ascension came and went, celebrated by the people of Northrend not as Jaina's coronation but as the defeat of Arthas. Jaina was mostly forgotten in the revelry, although Kagra informed her that those who frequented the kitchen of Icecrown Citadel raised a glass to her reign. Jaina was comfortable with this. Only one person besides herself took note of the anniversary as Jaina's ascension.

Kel'Thuzad gave her a white fur cloak, similar in weight to the black one she had lost in Silithus. She swung it around her shoulders experimentally and spun in front of her long mirror.  _It'll be hell to keep clean,_  was her first thought, remembering a long series of Dalaran whites she had destroyed as a novice before earning her purple robes. It was beautifully crafted and hung in long pleats that complimented her frame without overwhelming her size.

"What animal is this fur from?" she asked. It was softer than ice bear or caribou.

"A Frostsaber cat," the lich replied.

"They're not native to Northrend," Jaina observed, curious.

"My sister commissioned it on my behalf."

Jaina looked up, startled. "Oh! You never told me-" Kel'Thuzad gazed back impassively. "Well, I'm happy that you're talking to her. How is she?"

"Mostly crazy, apparently."

"How crazy?"

"She spends most of her time in bear form, hunting wyverns."

"Not all of her time, if she's writing letters to you."

"I suspect she's dictating them to someone. Her penmanship was never this good."

Jaina smiled. "Thank her for me, will you?"

"Yes, my King."

* * *

Winter deepened. Jaina devised a spell to keep her new cloak clean and wore it relentlessly. One of the windows in the upper meeting room cracked at the beginning of December and Jaina wrapped herself tightly in the cloak as Orchid swept snow off the long table. The Wolvar woman had never left Icecrown since returning with Jaina after the Vrykul's attack on her village the year before. She had joined Starkweather's work crew, proving to have both an amiable disposition and impressive physical stamina.

Now, with Starkweather off re-checking Ironwall's integrity after a particularly exuberant quake, Orchid had been placed in charge of the living Citadel crew, as well as inserting herself into Jaina's daily life.

"We get boards, block up window," she said authoritatively. "You need tea? Gloves for hands? Okay. I get boards and nails."

Jaina fluffed the cloak up around her neck and sat down with a pile of memos while she waited. Tjorn joined her shortly, looking twice his summer weight in thick winter pelage.

"We need someone to plow the pass regularly or the sledges aren't going to get through," he reported.

"I want to head up the mountain first and blast some of the snowpack down. We can't plow an avalanche." Jaina had discovered that her usefulness in Northrend during winter largely amounted to 'human snowplow'. She was fine with this; it was an impressive, helpful, and entirely innocuous display of her magical prowess.

"Imuruk is still doing calculations?" asked Tjorn.

"He said something about fissures and rock types and then he lost me at pyroclastic flow densities," Jaina replied with a helpless shrug. "He should be finished-"

The door opened to admit Imuruk, holding an upper-armload of papers, and Orchid, carrying a parcel of hewn boards and her toolkit. "Brr!" Imuruk said cheerfully and glanced at the broken window.

"We need to plow the southern pass," Tjorn began.

The rest of his sentence was lost in the braying of a horn. Jaina stood abruptly, heart pounding, upsetting her stack of memos. Imuruk grabbed all four totem-daggers out of their sheaths with uncharacteristic ferocity and Orchid leapt onto the table, fur bristling, lips peeled back from her fangs. Tjorn's ears flattened into his thick mane and his eyes showed white.

"What is that?" he asked cautiously.

"Intruder alert," said Jaina and dashed from the room.

At the top of the stairs, she heard shouting and the sound of weapons. She gripped the obsidian railing and leaned over.

"Where?" she yelled into the open air of the foyer. Immediately, two ghouls and a skeleton pointed out the front door. "Who?"

"Elementals!" shouted one of the Cult of the Damned, halting his headlong sprint through the foyer. "Out of nowhere!  _Hundreds_ of them, attacking without provocation!" He saluted her, and took off, brandishing what looked like a Gnomish hand-canon.

"Elementals?" said Jaina. She remembered Thrall's dream and her eyes widened in horror.

**Kel'Thuzad!**

_West, your majesty,_  he replied and her vision doubled, showing her the lich's theatre of battle. A line of undead foot-soldiers stood between him and the advancing pack of ice elementals _._ Kel'Thuzad raised his long hands, talons curling as he focused his magic.

**Kagra!**

_Here,_ replied the orc and Jaina was given a view of the western battle from the ramparts high above. Kagra was locked in combat with an ice elemental, a big one crudely attired in plates of metal and wielding a rectangular blade. She was alone; five more loomed behind the first, kept at bay by the narrow width of the rampart.

Jaina teleported, obliterating one elemental before her feet touched the ground. The others reacted slowly and Jaina was boiling a second into steam before they had realized the battle had two fronts.

"Thanks for the assist," said Kagra as she vaulted through the remains of her elemental, twin blades tearing it in two. "But you should be inside directing the action, Lady King, not getting your hands dirty."

Jaina ignored the suggestion. "Is this all of them?"

"On this level, yes." The Death Knight stepped aside as an elemental's sword drove past her. "The frostwyrm has the ones up above under control." Jaina backed up, giving Kagra the lead. She gently reached out to the great undead dragon.

**Lyessera?**

The frostwyrm didn't answer in words, but Jaina received a sense of welcome and a magnificent bird's eye view of the lands around the Citadel. The glacier was dotted with knots of fighters. As she rode within the dragon's mind, the number of elementals began to dwindle. The Scourge troops out-numbered them and if the way Kagra and Kel'Thuzad threw themselves into battle was any indication, Jaina's soldiers had been itching for a good fight.

Thirty minutes later, it was over.

Jaina sought Imuruk, her will bouncing from undead to undead within and without the Citadel, using them as windows through which to view her domain. She located the shaman at the mouth of the Nerubian tunnel, explaining to a disappointed Anu'Shukhet that she was too late.

Jaina nodded to both before addressing Imuruk. "What happened?"

"It has begun." He regarded her with haunted eyes. "The dark thing, the lurking evil within Deepholm that Warchief Thrall dreamed of... It is  _rising_. It is... breaking. I can feel it."

"But what  _is_ it?" Jaina pressed, frustrated. "Where is it? Is it here? Is it everywhere? Where  _is_  Deepholm, exactly?"

"It is not... here. It is a different plane, but..." Imuruk shook his head. "Something is happening. Far away, to the south and the east."

"To the east?" said Jaina. "In the Eastern Kingdoms?"

"I don't know. I guess. It must be."

Kel'Thuzad swept up beside her with a slight bow to Anu'Shukhet. "There are more of them," he announced. Anu'Shukhet perked up. "Yes, go take your soldiers out for some sport, General. But more distressing, my Lady, is a report from the Ironwall Dam."

"Starkweather? Wait, Ironwall. It's to the east," said Jaina sharply.  _East. What is happening in the east?_

"There is a crack in Icecrown glacier."

"There are many cracks in the glacier," said Anu'Shukhet, pausing as she turned to leave. "Earthsinger and Imuruk explored a number of them together."

Kel'Thuzad shook his head. "This doesn't seem to be a typical crevasse. Starkweather sent a gargoyle back with this missive." He extended a rolled message to Jaina.

She read it quickly. "A crack in the glacier, leaking steam and sulphur? And a crack in the  _dam_?" Her heart began to hammer in her chest. Hadn't she been assured that Ironwall was impregnable? "This is... I need to know what's going on, in the Eastern Kingdoms and here." She pinched her chin, mind working furiously on a plan. "Imuruk, I need to visit Stormwind and I want you to come with me."

"M-me, Lady Jaina?"

"You have the unique advantage of being both a native of underground Northrend and a shaman. No one else knows this land more intimately than you."

"But I know nothing of the Eastern Kingdom or Stormwind," he said hesitantly.

Jaina smiled. "You don't need to. I only wish to share our knowledge of what is happening here, and learn what they know of these events. Perhaps together we can figure out what is happening and find a way to deal with it."

The shaman glanced at Anu'Shukhet's swiftly departing figure, on her way to the battlefield.

"I agree," he said. "I can't make heads or tails of what I'm sensing. I only know that it's  _bad_ , my Lady."

Jaina nodded. "Kel'Thuzad, you are in command of the Citadel's forces until I return. Make contact with Starkweather and find out what's happening at the dam." She took off her gloves, stretched her fingers, then cast a portal. "To Stormwind."

* * *

Kel'Thuzad saw that Anu'Shukhet and her soldiers had the elemental incursion at the Citadel handily controlled with the help of the Scourge warriors. The elementals seemed to come in waves, unending, but not so frequently that the Nerubians couldn't rest in between. The Scourge, of course, needed no rest.

Starkweather and the dam were another matter. Although Kel'Thuzad retained the ability to see through the eyes of some of the mindless undead, he could not do so with the Death Knight.

"General," Kel'Thuzad addressed Anu'Shukhet. She turned, meeting his gaze with one bright eye from beneath her horned brow.

"Lichlord," she replied.

"Lady Jaina has ordered me to investigate the state of affairs at Ironwall Dam. I am leaving the defense of the Citadel in your capable claws," he said, steepling his own talons. Anu'Shukhet fluttered her wing casings approvingly. "Should you need to contact me, find one of the Cult and they will relay your words."

"Understood," said Anu'Shukhet, shifting her enormous fighting claws in the snow. "Good hunting, lichlord."

"To you as well, General."

Kel'Thuzad teleported. It was a mild day, as far as December went, and the broad, unprotected span of the dam gleamed dully under the wan sun. Kel'Thuzad spied Starkweather at the western end and joined him.

"Hail," said the Death Knight stiffly, trying to fight off a look of annoyance.

"Where's this crack?" asked Kel'Thuzad, brushing past him. Then he reached the edge of the structure and looked down. "I'll be  _damned_."

To his mind, a 'crack' was something that one found in broken crockery, or perhaps an old foundation. It was something that could be patched with glue or mortar. The gaping black chasm reaching up from the foot of the dam, parting the expanse of stone and iron, was not a crack; it was a flaw in space itself. He could have stood up inside it. As he watched, to his fascination, it grew, the leading tip crooking up toward him like a beckoning finger. There was a groan of stressed metal and burr of shifting rock.

"Incredible!" he whispered, then turned to Starkweather, crimson eyes blazing. "What are you planning to do about it?"

"There's nothing we  _can_ do about it," he said, grimacing. "Sir."

Kel'Thuzad turned back to the imminent, slow-motion disaster happening below him. "What happens when the dam breaks?"

Starkweather planted his fists on his hips, chewing his lip. "Well, it's not built to restrain a water source, which is good. Most of it'll just crumble into the valley below. Eventually I guess the glacier will scrape the whole thing flat."

Kel'Thuzad moved to the northern side of the dam. A thinner crack, not as cavernous or active as the one in the dam, snaked across the ice. A thin mist rose from it continuously. Kel'Thuzad pondered. Losing the dam was inevitable and unimportant but this was worrisome.

"What do you know about the geology beneath the glacier?" he asked Starkweather without turning.

"Not much, my lord," the Death Knight replied. "Arthas didn't do a lot of surveying before he started putting up structures-" The dam shook. Starkweather broadened his stance, arms clasped respectfully behind his back. "-but from what we've seen, the glacier overlies an old volcanic field."

"A dormant one?"

"Apparently."

Kel'Thuzad studied the steam rising from the icefield. "Not anymore."

* * *

Jaina was unwelcome at Light's Hope, but in Stormwind it was a different story. This had much to do with the fact that Samina Sugarhill had vouched for Jaina's character to her comrades within SI:7, but it also stemmed from Anduin Wrynn's affection for his 'Aunt'. The moment Jaina and Imuruk presented themselves at the great gates of Stormwind, word went blazing through the city.

Anduin met them at the doors to Stormwind Keep. It had been nearly a year since Jaina had last seen the boy and she almost didn't recognize the lanky, blond youth who was trying too hard to look calm and collected as she approached.

"Lady Proudmoore!" he said in a rush and then ruined the last tenuous vestiges of adult dignity when his gaze alighted on Imuruk and his jaw fell open. "Wha- who?"

Imuruk, for his part, was trying unsuccessfully to hide behind Jaina, overly conscious of the stares of Stormwind citizens.

"Hello Anduin," said Jaina with a broad smile and bowed. "This is my friend, Imuruk. Imuruk, this is Anduin Wrynn."

"Wow," said Anduin, in unabashed awe. They shook hands. Jaina slipped past Anduin's shoulder while the two were busy staring at each other and intercepted Varian as he came striding towards them.

"Lady Proudmoore, what is the meaning of-"

"My King," she said and curtsied. Behind her, she noted that Imuruk had the presence of mind to bow deeply, holding the pose until she straightened up. "It is my honour to present Imuruk, Nerubian Ambassador to Icecrown Citadel. Imuruk, King Varian Wrynn of Stormwind."

There was no hand-shaking between these two.

"We're hoping to learn more about the cause of these earthquakes, and recent elemental incursions," Jaina continued. "Imuruk is a shaman and a former student of geology and glaciology in the north." Varian's expression opened a bit more upon hearing the Nerubian's credentials. "Together, we hope to puzzle out exactly what is going on and develop a plan to counter it, should one become necessary."

"As always, Lady Proudmoore, you are at the fore-front of the situation," said Wrynn. "Come. I will introduce you to our theories. Anduin-"

"I want to come," he said quickly.

Varian's shoulders twitched in a suppressed sigh. "Very well."

They made their way through the Keep's courtyards at a brisk pace. A succession of tremors swarmed after them, nearly tripping Jaina. She frowned. As they made their way through the city, she had spied broken masonry and hastily erected scaffolding, and now she heard the distant sound of breaking stone. It was followed by strident shouts and the rising din of a siren. The damage was much more significant here than in Northrend.

Her psychic link to Kel'Thuzad bloomed abruptly.

**What is it?** she asked, already on edge.

_Ironwall Dam is going to collapse, but that's not important. Have a look at this._  Jaina allowed her vision to double and caught herself just before she tripped again. Kel'Thuzad was levitating close to a fissure in the glacier itself, a fissure out-gassing a steady jet of scalding water.

**I thought Starkweather said it was steam!**

_That was, apparently, just the prologue._  The lich turned, panning his gaze around himself. The surface of the glacier was webbed with cracks, some strictly the product of too much stress, others melted and sliding into themselves, spewing irregular gusts of vapour.  _Ask Imuruk how much of Icecrown glacier overlies the volcanic field, will you?_

Jaina passed along the question.

**Most of the southern reaches,**  she replied.  **And- and the mountain behind the Citadel, where the dam is anchored, is a dormant volcano? Are you _kidding_  me?**

Kel'Thuzad didn't reply verbally, and Jaina momentarily focused on her own view as the lich teleported back onto the span of the dam. Varian Wrynn ushered her into a well-lit meeting room and she took the offered seat along a heavy table.

She peeped back into Kel'Thuzad's view. The crack that Starkweather had reported mere hours before had completed its slow, creeping journey up the side of the dam, completely severing the span. Kel'Thuzad hovered above the part still bolted into the mountain's flank. The rest was beginning to tilt inexorably southward, into the Crystalsong valley below.

Stormwind Keep abruptly canted sideways and Jaina's attention returned to her own surroundings with a gasp. The floor heaved and the walls shuddered, windows rattling in their frames. Jaina heard breaking glass from somewhere nearby.

"Again!" growled Varian, glaring at the ceiling as though it was the Keep's fault.

"Much worse here," muttered Imuruk, and Jaina saw a slight glow behind his amber eyes. "It's closer."

"What's closer?" she demanded.

"Something... old and dark. Something trapped, or imprisoned," said the shaman slowly. Varian and Anduin stared at him with slow-dawning horror. The other people in the room, to whom Jaina had not yet been introduced, met his proclamation with confusion. Imuruk blinked at them. "Oh no," he said, "it isn't here. It's further north."

"Thrall saw a shape clad in hammered iron," said Jaina, hoping to jog something more loose from the shaman's sight. "Under the earth."

"There's been trouble among the Dark Iron dwarves," said Anduin, glancing up the table toward his father. Varian nodded.

"I have heard," said Jaina.

"But this is not dwarven," Imuruk continued, and Jaina began to hear terror- terror born of the kind of deep, inexplicable understanding she had experienced at Light's Hope- permeate his voice. "Even the Dark Iron dwarves do not frighten the elements themselves. This is something...  _bigger_. Something...  _older_."

The Keep shuddered on its foundations and this time, it did not stop. The chandelier rattled, the windows shook until they burst, and somewhere, someone screamed. Anduin hung onto the heavy table beside Jaina, grimly determined not to show fear.

"Everyone out!" King Wrynn bellowed. Jaina stumbled towards the door. She felt Imuruk's hands on her ribs, steadying her; his quadrapedal physiology gave him considerably better balance than any of the humans in the room.

They made it into the courtyard beside the Keep. Beyond the walls, Jaina heard the sounds of battle mixed into the chaos of the earthquake. The elementals found them a moment later, swarms of them, ice, fire, earth, and wind, driven savage with madness or fear.

Whatever Varian Wrynn and his experts thought of Imuruk when he had arrived blossomed into respect as the Nerubian pulled out his totem-daggers and stood firm beside Jaina. He flared his hind-wings, shielding Anduin from stray debris. King Wrynn drew his sword and Jaina shrugged off her cloak.

Kel'Thuzad's vision elbowed into Jaina's field of view without warning, the lich pressing her to see what he saw.

"Oh... my...  _god-!_ "

* * *

Kel'Thuzad didn't have to convince the construction crew to abandon Ironwall Dam. They rushed the portal as soon as he had cast it, Starkweather shoving the last of them through before diving- literally diving- after them. The portal closed and the lich remained.

It did not surprise anyone who knew Kel'Thuzad that he appreciated spectacles of unbridled destruction with an affection that bordered on physical lust.

The surface of Icecrown glacier heaved and swayed like an ocean, liquifying under the combined effects of heat and incessant movement. It swirled and bowed; then, as Kel'Thuzad watched, clinging to what remained of the broad railing on Ironwall Dam, the surface began to bulge. The steam cleared for a breathless moment. There came a sensation, too deep and huge to be a sound, welling up from far, far beneath him. It was omnipresent, alien, and viscerally terrifying, and the lich flattened himself against the railing eagerly, for although it frightened him on a primal level, he also exalted in the total, uninhibited power of it.

The glacier exploded.

A tower of vaporized rock and water plumed instantly into the darkening sky, faster than sound. The noise, when it came, hit Kel'Thuzad like a hammer and he teleported mere instants before the shockwave blew him apart. He reappeared halfway up the mountain to the west, reeling from sensory overload. He couldn't see the crater in Icecrown glacier through the cloud of debris but he knew it was there, a dark hole through the ice and the layers of rock below.

For a moment he just stared, one hand pressed to his chest, overwhelmed and giddy.

Then he heard the dull roar of displaced earth above him and looked up just in time to see that the force of the eruption had necessitated not one, but  _two_ exits.

"Oh bugger."

The entire peak of the mountain was gone, catapulted northward by the explosion, directly towards the Citadel.

* * *

"Oh my god," Jaina squeaked again, and then promptly blasted a fire elemental encroaching on the protective circle she and her companions had formed in the courtyard. Varian bellowed commands to a messenger garbed in the heraldry of the Stormwind guard and a man wearing SI:7 black.

"So, Imuruk, any idea what this is about yet?" she asked conversationally when the shaman side-stepped close to her. He shook his head.

"Something profoundly terrible," he replied.

"Well," piped up Anduin, trying to catch a glimpse of the action between the barricading bodies of his Aunt and her large insectoid friend, "this  _is_ Azeroth. Something's always trying to kill us."

"Quite true." Jaina threw a wall of flame at incoming ranks of ice elementals, sublimating them to steam and pushing them backwards into a cadre of air elementals. She closed her fist and the mixed water vapour froze solid again, felling the two groups.

"This is insane," King Wrynn snapped, pulling up at Jaina's shoulder, broadsword unsheathed. "Can no one tell me what I'm fighting here?!"

"Elementals!" said Anduin helpfully. His father growled. "At least the ground stopped shaking."

"Lady Jaina, cover me to the gryphon eyrie," Varian demanded. "I want to get a more complete picture of the battle."

Jaina obliged. The King and companions edged back into the Keep, Jaina guarding their retreat.

They reached the eyrie scant moments before the sky began to boil.

It came out of the north, a scalding, churning mass of flame and oily black smoke that filled the sky from horizon to horizon. With it came a sound that Jaina could only liken to the motor of a very large goblin engine trying to turn over with ice in the lines because it was no noise she could imagine something living could make. It smelled like an overheated engine too, like hot oil, like a forge, like a crematorium.

And then it was upon them, wheeling up in it's own wake of acrid smoke, and Jaina watched, mouth agape.

"By the Light," she whispered into the weird silence that came before, "it's a  _dragon._ "

Abruptly, she was staggered by Kel'Thuzad's point of view again, comprised of his skeletal hands held out before him, straining to repel something she couldn't quite see.

_A dragon?_  He gasped into her mind.  _A dragon? No! A dragon Aspect! No!_

**An Aspect?** She replied, crouching instinctively as the enormous thing reached the apex of its stoop and turned over.

_But I saw him fall...!_  The connection was lost, the pair jolted out of each others minds with fear. Part of Jaina, the part not paralyzed by raw terror, clutched after the link.

**Who, Kel'Thuzad?! Who did you see fall?** The dragon came screaming out of the sky, its maw a white-hot diamond. She heard Anduin shriek behind her and Varian reared up, brandishing his blade.

_Deathwing,_ said Kel'Thuzad and then the connection was lost again, smothered by Jaina's perfect, crystalline fear.

The dragon landed, talons the size of grown men crushing the parapets of Stormwind Keep. The stone became molten under his grip and he opened his jaws and roared, and then he turned and looked directly at Jaina and Varian.

The King's companions scattered. Imuruk, a healer not a fighter, with a life-time of experience and every shamanic sense telling him he could not stand against this creature, this  _force_ , turned and ran. Anduin, young and full of bravado, but brimming with real, pitch-black terror, broke and followed.

Varian Wrynn and Jaina Proudmoore remained atop the eyrie, frozen in the Aspect's burning gaze.

Jaina stared into his tiny, red eyes, partially masked by jagged armour. What stared back was not awesome, or timeless, or even frightening. Deathwing was something so wholly removed from her comprehension that she couldn't relate to him at all, couldn't frame him with human words, or name the emotions he dredged up within her. Was there pain there, in his crimson haze? Jaina didn't know. Anger, resentment? She could understand orcs, who feuded with and hated humans, with trolls who merely hated them. She sympathized with parts of Kel'Thuzad's personality, and she had loved Arthas, even around his flaws.

But for the first time in her life, Jaina found the word  _evil_ pushing onto her tongue, and it was not hyperbole.

Deathwing exhaled burning black smoke over them and Jaina blinked rapidly, raising a hand to waft the bitter stuff away from her eyes. Then he uncoiled, ponderous paws smashing towers as he moved across the broken Keep toward them, and Jaina had never felt so tiny and soft and fragile.

And it ended and began like this: Varian Wrynn- stubborn, King, gladiator- stood mesmerized on the parapet, paralyzed by the enormity of the dragon's evil.

Jaina- intrepid, King, scholar- took aim with a frostbolt and shot out Deathwing's left eye.


	21. Hallowed Be Thy Name

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: this chapter contains the non-canon death of a canon character.

Imuruk had lived much of his life above the ground, but in the throes of fear he fell back on instinct and sought refuge beneath the earth. A cellar served; it was a shallow bowl of shelter compared to the magnificent tunnels his people made, but it served. He backed into a corner. The dirt floor and the building above did little to block the roars of the dragon that was not a dragon, or the heat of its breath.

Anduin was with him, cowering against the shaman's abdominal carapace, and Imuruk realized he was clutching the youth's shoulders protectively with his lower set of arms. He let go; he hardly knew the Prince, and besides, one shaman was hardly protection against a thing that frightened the element of earth itself.

Anduin looked up at him.

"We should..." he began, dazed, then stopped and licked his lips. There was a pause in the sound and fury outside. Imuruk heard glass breaking upstairs and the thin bleating of a goat from a nearby yard.

Then Deathwing roared again and for a moment he sounded like a real, living thing because his voice was twisted up with pain and surprise: surprise at being hurt, surprise that he  _could_  be hurt. That roar was followed by another of pure rage, and then there was heat and force and light all at once, and the building was blasted clear off its foundation.

Imuruk reacted in panic and threw them both to the floor. Debris pelted them. Smoke blanketed the basement. The shaman curled himself around Anduin as much as he could, prepared to let his exo-skeleton take the blows Anduin's soft body couldn't, but the Prince resisted, squirming for freedom.

"Don't worry," Anduin panted, pushing Imuruk back so he could sit up. His eyes were suddenly bright, his expression fierce. "I got this." Around his hands glowed a soft yellow halo, like candle light in a hurricane. The youth was casting spell after spell, healing spells, building a shell of protection around them both that rebuffed the charred debris and black smoke. Imuruk collected himself into a more dignified position and watched.

Above them, Deathwing's roars were punctuated with blossoms of flame, visible through the smoke in bursts of ominous red. He seemed to be stationary and Imuruk could only assume that he was fighting Jaina and King Wrynn.  _If he is still fighting, then one or both of them are still alive_.

"We should- we should escape while it's preoccupied," Imuruk urged, tugging at Anduin's arm.

Anduin shook his head resolutely. "No," he said. His voice was steady now and he stood up slowly, letting the layers of shielding gutter out. He coughed as smoke wisped into the dome of clean air that the shields had covered. "This is my city. My dad's up there, and Aunt Jaina. I won't think less of you if you run, Ambassador, but it is my duty to stay and try to defend my people."

Imuruk thought about it, just for a moment. "I'm not a fighter," he said, "and I don't know how much use my magic is with that  _thing_  nearby, but I'm bigger than you, and faster than you, and that may be useful."

Anduin grinned up at him. "I knew you wouldn't run. Come on. Let's-"

There was a deafening  _BOOM_ , a white light, and another furious dragon roar. The concussive force of the magic blast blew the clouds of smoke flat for a moment. It blew Imuruk and Anduin flat too. They looked up, winded, eyes stinging, from the basement floor.

Jaina stood on a rickety spire of brick and timber, all that remained of the broad city wall for fifty meters to either side. She was crouched like a fighter, hands curled into defensive claws. Her palms smoldered with magic. Deathwing stalked toward her, crushing roofs and chimneys with each ponderous step, his gaze fixed on Jaina's pale figure. One of his eyes was punctured and useless; a spill of black gore dripped into the hollow beneath his lower eyelid.

Deathwing opened his mouth and Jaina raised her hands, light and cold sparkling around her fingers. Then something caused the dragon to flinch right and a steel ballista bolt sprouted from just behind his left elbow. The shaft had not sunk deep enough to reach his heart, hampered by the black iron armour fastened to the dragon's hide, but it had distracted him. Deathwing whipped toward the source of the shot, mouth agape, breath boiling the air before him, and Imuruk and Anduin followed his gaze.

The frame of the ballista rocked as Varian Wrynn stepped up on it. He gripped his great sword in both hands and bared his teeth in defiance at the dragon. His lips moved but the words did not reach the two watchers on the ground. Deathwing reacted with a flare of his nostrils. Then Varian took three great strides and launched himself at Deathwing's face.

"For the Alliance!" he bellowed.

Deathwing swatted the King of Stormwind aside with his barbed tail, and turned back to Jaina.

* * *

" _Foolish mortal..._ " Although the dragon aspect's voice was little more than a hollow mutter, it managed to dwarf all other sound. Beneath Deathwing's rumble, Anduin's distant scream was a sigh to Jaina's ears, and the rush and clatter of the city guard galvanized into action all around her was an insignificant rustle. She purposely did not look in the direction that Varian had been thrown.

Deathwing fixed her with his remaining eye.

_"There will be no rising from this grave,"_ he murmured, and intentionally crushed a guardsman flat with one fore-paw. The cobblestones where his dewclaw came down bubbled and liquified to lava. _"You are an aberration, life and undeath together, but I am death itself. You cannot stand against me."_

"And yet I am," Jaina replied, certain she would be heard. Yes, she was standing, but it was mostly because she was paralysed by terror. There were tears on her cheeks that she didn't remember crying.

Deathwing bridled at the barb.  _"Insolent...!"_  he roared, the judgement carried on a gust of oily breath peppered with embers. Jaina blinked hard against the smoke. If she could get a rise out of him with words alone, then perhaps he was not so strange or superior to her. " _Your death will bring me pleasure,_ " he snarled and lunged, snapping at her, teeth like city gates slamming shut, close enough to catch the edge of her sleeve as she leapt. Jaina teleported mid-dive.

She landed on a tiled roof and caught her balance. Deathwing lurched about and found her quickly, jaws trailing a pennant of black smoke. The gulf between their abilities was still too vast to comprehend, much less bridge and with a quiet, chilled certainty, Jaina realized she was likely not going to survive this confrontation.

_"I will purify this world of your unnatural existence,_ " Deathwing continued, swatting a wall in apparent frustration. Jaina teleported again, landed on an eaves-trough, and pulled herself upright on a clothesline someone had strung from a chimney behind her to a window on the opposite building. His voice made her tremble with fear, but his words were... kind of silly.

"Are you listening to yourself?" she called suddenly. He turned and she lowered her voice to a comical growl. "'I will purify this world of your unnatural existence!'" She forced derisive laughter and Deathwing snarled and snapped, furious.

And just like that, the fear went out of Jaina. She felt giddy, taking in the sheer lunacy of her situation: here she was, clinging to a clothesline while Stormwind burned around her, teasing a thing as old as Azeroth itself.

"'Your death will bring me pleasure'," she continued. "Goodness, dragon, no one talks like that! You sound like a pulp novel villain!"

Deathwing brayed and head-butted the building. Jaina teleported again, laughing, and landed back on what remained of the city wall. Deathwing tracked her, snorting puffs of flame.

There was movement in the ruins below. Figures in Stormwind guard tabards clustered around something she couldn't resolve from her vantage; judging from the distance and angle, she assumed it was King Wrynn. Quickly, she turned her gaze elsewhere lest Deathwing catch on. At the edge of the devastation she made out Imuruk, with Anduin leading him at a lope. Again, she looked away.

" _You can't run forever!_ " Deathwing roared at her. Jaina took a deep breath and teleported, appearing on Deathwing's back, right between his wings.

"So come kill me then," she taunted and froze the iron plate where she stood. The ice lasted just long enough to make Deathwing hiss in pain before it melted. "Ah, so you still abide by the basic laws of thermodynamics, then." She teleported away. Deathwing snorted.

" _Mortal insect. You are not worth the time it will take to torment you to death. I will crush you swiftly._ "

"'I will crush you swiftly'," Jaina mocked.

" _You are growing tiresome_." Deathwing flicked his gaze away from her for a moment and Jaina felt a surge of panic.  _No! Keep looking at me, pay attention to me, follow me!_ She saw a flicker of light; Anduin, mostly hidden behind Imuruk's crouching form, with his hands pressed to something- no, not something: it was the King, his father. Anduin was healing him.

Jaina gritted her teeth.  _I have to keep his focus on me._  But she was running out of insults. Even if Deathwing wasn't a gifted orator, his voice terrified her on a deep, primal level. She needed-

**Kel'Thuzad!**  she called,  **help me insult this dragon!**

_My King, I'm-_ There was a mental grunt from the lich and through him, she glimpsed something that looked an awful lot like an entire mountain falling on Icecrown Citadel.  _I feel like you might be having more fun than I am right now._

**On the contrary,**  she replied, blasting Deathwing in the face with a rain of frostbolts to keep him from turning his gaze,  **I think I'm about to die. But until then, I need his focus on me.**

_Jaina, leave them! Let the dragon have Stormwind- we need you here._

**I can't leave them,**  she replied. Strong and proud though he was, Varian Wrynn was no match for Deathwing alone. Neither was Jaina, not really, but between the two of them, they'd managed to keep his attention contained to this single quarter of the city. Every second longer they harried him was another opportunity for the citizens to flee.

_Are you their King or ours?_

**These people are my friends, Kel'Thuzad, and allies of Icecrown.**

_And you will die for them?_  He was angry, disgusted with Jaina, the choice she was making and the reasoning behind it.

Jaina ground her teeth in frustration- Icecrown  _didn't_  have a formal alliance with Stormwind and, had she asked for such even an hour before, she would likely have been turned down. But Varian and Anduin were her friends and she couldn't simply leave them.

Neither did she have to die protecting them. None of them could stand against Deathwing; they would have to run. They could run together and live to fight another day.

**No,** she conceded,  **I will not die for them. We've got to get out of here.**

* * *

Imuruk couldn't depend on the elements to inform him or support him, not in the presence of this thing that looked like a dragon and felt like an Aspect and acted like the end of the world.

He could heal though, and so he shouldered Anduin out of the way when the youth's strength began to flag and took over for him. "You'll be able to move in a moment," he told the King of Stormwind.

Varian Wrynn had murder in his eyes. Imuruk was quietly impressed by the human's durability. Deathwing had slammed him through an ashlar wall, which resulted in broken limbs, crushed ribs, and a concussion, yet the King had never lost consciousness. Imuruk lowered his hands and Anduin helped his father to his feet.

"Let's give Lady Proudmoore a break from dragon-baiting," Varian growled to the gathered city guards. There was a flurry of brisk nods. "You and you- re-arm the ballista. You with the repeating cross-bow, get on top of the bakery. You, you and you, with me. Anduin, stay here and use your magic to protect us. Ambassador," he said to Imuruk, "don't let my son out of your sight."

"Yes, sire-"

Abruptly, Deathwing whirled to face them. Guardsmen dived for cover. Imuruk shoved himself in front of Anduin and drew all four totem-daggers. Varian Wrynn snarled, blood smearing his teeth, and heaved back his sword.

Deathwing lunged, fast as a snake, and pinned the King against the ground with one forepaw. Varian struggled to sit up, wielding his sword in defiance. The dragon's head shot forward, jaws snapping shut through Varian's waist, the King's entire torso inside his mouth, then drew back with one sharp yank.

Anduin staggered, unblinking, unable to breathe. Varian had not made a sound, had no time to scream or could not be heard from inside the dragon's cavernous mouth, and there had been only a muted series of pops, a sort of muffled, protracted crunch, as the King's vertebrae separated. If Anduin was ever asked, he would recall the event as a series of sounds and the most  _anti-climatic_ was that of Deathwing ripping his father in half. It should have been louder, shouldn't it? It should have been louder...

He felt Imuruk grab him as the guards screamed and surged around him, and Deathwing reared his dripping maw back, sucking in a deep breath, his nostrils aglow with the promise of incineration. Imuruk dragged Anduin right through the dragon's front legs to the opposite side of the destroyed square as Deathwing exhaled ruin on the place they had stood seconds earlier.

"Wait-" Anduin gasped. "-wait! No!  _No_ , let me go!" Anduin began to struggle. "Put me down!  _No!_  I can- he's not- I can help him! Pleeease! Ple-!"

Imuruk ignored the Prince, clapped a hand firmly over his mouth and sought shelter in the shadows. Behind them, all that remained of the guardsmen were greasy shadows on fallen walls.

"Your father told me to watch you," Imuruk whispered grimly. "I will do that."

Anduin wrestled the shaman's hand off his mouth. "We have to-!" Anduin screamed. "He- we- we have to-!"

"No," Imuruk soothed, "you can't go back." He looked the boy in the eyes. "You can't heal him. We have to go."

"We can't just leave him," Anduin begged in a whisper.

"We have to leave him. We can't fight  _that_. We have to get you somewhere safe."

"We  _can't-_ "

The ambient temperature plunged abruptly. Imuruk's breath became snowflakes and one of the aluminium buttons on Anduin's vest cracked spontaneously. They both turned to see Jaina advancing, levitating at Deathwing's eye level across the broken ground, her hands cast wide and pale light flaring in her open mouth with each word she spoke. They couldn't hear her over the fires and the pealing bells and the screams, but something she said had Deathwing's full attention and as the pair watched, teeth chattering, the dragon took a step back. He took another, and then another. Jaina floated mere meters from his jaws.

Then Deathwing shook his head and chuckled. " _What good are your threats when you're already dead?_ "

He lunged, Jaina teleported, and for a full minute, he chased her as she appeared and vanished, all around the square. Her feet never touched the ground.

She popped up right in front of Anduin and Imuruk.

"Run, Anduin," she panted and disappeared.

Anduin ran. He managed to put the corner of a building between himself and Deathwing's line of sight as the dragon bore down on Jaina, and Imuruk beside her. Anduin hesitated a moment, caught Jaina's ferocious glowing gaze, and nodded. He put his hands over his ears and kept running.

Imuruk squeaked and fell over backwards. Jaina aimed a frostbolt up Deathwing's left nostril and stepped in front of the shaman.

"Get up, get up!" she gasped. "You've got to run, Imuruk! Grab my han-"

Deathwing snapped his jaws shut around Jaina.

Imuruk shrieked and bounded to his feet. His powers were not reliable but they were all he had. The shaman threw down his totems and lightning raked Deathwing's muzzle, snapping and sizzling across his armour.

Jaina reappeared beside Imuruk, looking frazzled but undamaged.

"Oh, my Lady, I thought-"

"I'm fine. Get out of here, Imuruk!"

"Too late," he gasped as Deathwing opened his mouth above them, this time not to bite but to engulf them in flames. Jaina raised her hands, crystals coalescing between them, but it was happening too slowly, the growing shield too fragile, Jaina's strength waning as Deathwing curled his cracked black lips in a triumphant sneer and exhaled.

Imuruk threw all of his will at the element of water. The shield popped and groaned, suddenly glacier-thick. Imuruk felt the element reel from his grasp but he had bought Jaina the time she needed and her spell multiplied exponentially, crystals forming and thickening and joining faster than Imuruk could see. The sound grated against his carapace. They were surrounded by a wall of ice.

Deathwing attacked the ice with his teeth when fire did no significant harm, gouging and splintering, the force of his bites sending shockwaves through the ice.

He broke the shield, too furious now to give so much as a growl of victory, intent upon Jaina. He batted Imuruk aside with a dismissive sweep of one paw and lunged for her. Imuruk expected to see her teleport but instead she stumbled aside, just barely dodging Deathwing's closing jaws, and Imuruk scrambled to his feet, shouting her name.

She dodged Deathwing's next strike too, but it knocked her on her back and before she could rise-

Imuruk threw himself across the distance between them, falling into a skid that shoved Jaina just out of Deathwing's reach. The dragon's teeth crunched through Imuruk's carapace and he was yanked off his feet.

" _Imuruk_!"

The shock of pain, of being lifted, was eclipsed by the heat rolling up Deathwing's throat as the dragon tossed him once, caught Imuruk fully inside his mouth, and closed his jaws.

* * *

Jaina gaped, tears evaporating on her cheeks. Deathwing suddenly coughed, mouth half opening, and Jaina saw Imuruk, bleeding, crushed, fingers stabbed stubbornly into the dragon's gums, hissing a litany in his own language. Deathwing gagged. He yawned, trying to paw the shaman out of his mouth, and then Jaina felt the element of earth, the element that Deathwing was meant to embody, respond.

Ropes of molten iron spun out from the armour girding his muzzle, wrapping his upper jaw, cutting into him in bright, searing bands. Jaina raised trembling hands, meaning to add what energy she still possessed to the spell, and then Deathwing closed his mouth again. The glowing bonds shuddered and smoked.

Deathwing chewed once and swallowed.

Jaina shut her eyes and teleported. She heard Deathwing laughing now as he searched for her, but she continued to teleport away from him, stumbling, wide-eyed and silent. She nearly missed recognizing Anduin when she blinked into alley beside him. He grabbed her arm.

"Jaina!"

"An- Anduin..." she whispered. "You've got to get out of here. We must retreat."

Anduin burst into tears. "What's happening? Where's Imuruk? Are you- are you leaving?"

Jaina shook her head and crushed him against her chest in a terrified embrace. "I can't fight the dragon alone," she said, then pushed the Prince out to arm's length. "No one can fight that thing alone. We need... we need to re-group. We need an army, more than one army. You need to summon your allies. We have to leave."

Anduin grabbed her hands in his. "What do I do?" he choked out around the ash and the shock. "I don't know what to do! I'm not r-ready for this! I don't want to be King!"

Jaina's eyes widened. "Neither did I," she said gently. "But it is what it is. And we have to leave." She drew a portal with one shaking hand.

"You're coming with me, right?" he begged.

"Yes," she said and clenched his hand so hard in her grip that it hurt. "I'm here with you, Anduin. I'm here."

They plunged through the gate.

It let them out at the edge of Elwynn Forest, amidst the chaos of a spontaneous exodus.

"We always run to the woods," Anduin whispered, staring around himself with empty eyes, watching the people of Stormwind run. Some of them were carrying their children. Some of them weren't carrying anything.

Jaina knelt in front of him, drawing his attention. "Yes, we do. We know where to hide. We know how to survive."

"It's not safe here," Anduin protested, "he'll know. He'll find us and he'll burn the whole forest down."

A long way off, Deathwing roared. Both Jaina and Anduin flinched.

"Anduin," she said, "Look at me."

He did.

"What is the appropriate protocol for a full evacuation of Stormwind?"

"We... well, it depends," he began. "It depends on the threat and- and- the King."

"Classify the threat."

"Um, he's airborne."

"Are you sure?"

"No, I mean, he came out of the air so we know he can fly but- there's a house downhill there, an inn. Can you get us on top of it so I can see the city better?"

Jaina nodded and made another portal. They stood on the roof of the sturdy inn and shaded their eyes against the setting sun, peering at the smoking wreck of Stormwind.

"He's not flying," said Anduin eventually. "What's he doing? He's not chasing people. I can see his wings I think."

"He's not mobile for the time being. What do we do?"

Anduin looked around. "Get everyone into the woods. Hide them. If he wants to kill everyone, he has to find them first. There are places we can hide. If he can't see us, he won't know where to start."

"Good. Go. Do it."

Anduin hesitated. "What if I'm wrong? I don't know what he's going to do next and everyone is just-" he gestured, "- _everywhere_. What if I-"

"Anduin," Jaina interuppted, "you're not alone. You're their King. Get them to help you. Look, that woman- she's an officer of the guard. Hail her! Get her to help you organize. That man- see what he's carrying? He's a herbalist, a healer. You need him."

"Okay," said Anduin, gaze darting between the two. "We gotta get down." She portaled them to the ground. "Aunt Jaina, can you get her, I'll get him? Meet back here."

Jaina saluted and trotted off after the guard. She felt light-headed, emptied out, and dehydrated.

"Ma'am!" she called. The woman turned, did a double-take, and bowed hurriedly.

"Lady P-Proudmoore-!"

"Meet King Wrynn in the lee of the inn. He has use of you."

"King Wrynn is dead," she whispered, "everyone says-"

"Anduin Wrynn," said Jaina. "Go!"

* * *

It seemed that most of Stormwind knew exactly what to do in dire circumstances. Jaina wasn't surprised; the city-state had been at war or under threat of attack for decades. While it was usually safer for civilians to live within the walls of the city, Anduin was right: when the protection of those walls failed, people fled to the forest. They had hiding places, food stores, weapons caches, means of communication.

Jaina posted two sharp-eyed sentries at the edge of the woods, within sprinting distance of the inn, and bade them keep watch on Deathwing. Then she re-joined Anduin.

He stood at the centre of a group of adults, all of them arguing over his head.

"My King," said Jaina, just loud enough and with enough haunting Lich King lilt in her voice that the group took immediate notice of her. She sank to one knee. "We have long been friends, Anduin Wrynn. Under these least favourable circumstances, I would offer you allegiance as well."

There was momentary silence.

"Lady Proudmoore, Lich King of Icecrown, I accept your offer," said Anduin solemnly and when Jaina raised her head, she saw something of the man that Anduin would be one day in the set of his jaw. She smiled.

"What assistance can I render you?" she said.

"Lady King, I have need of Stormwind's allies, and swiftly. I require portals to several far distant locations."

"As you wish," she said and rose. Jaina opened a series of portals, under Anduin's direction, ignoring the twinge of anxiety that the one to Light's Hope brought with it. He dispatched hastily-briefed emissaries through each one and then they waited.

Anduin looked up at her.

"They're only listening to me because you're here," he said.

Jaina nodded. "Some of them. Some of them are listening because you are their King and they need you to be their King."

"I wish they would stop talking over me."

"Then make them stop," Jaina urged. "Plus, someday you'll actually be taller than pretty much everyone. That'll help."

Anduin cracked a small smile. "People still talk over you, just because you're short?"

"Oh, all the time. The Death Knights are all taller than me, all of my ambassadors, the Nerubians- and Kel'Thuzad, by the Light, don't get me started."

"What do you do?"

"Demand their attention. Tell them to be silent."

"Does that work?"

"It does." She paused. "You will have to keep reminding people that they should pay attention to you. Demand it, and once you have their attention, deserve it."

Anduin looked down at the ground. A fine layer of grey ash was beginning to settle. "What if I don't deserve it? What if my ideas aren't the right ones? What if I get somebody killed?" His voice wavered.

Jaina leaned back against the wall and sighed. "Anduin, I asked myself- no, I still  _ask-_  all of those questions and... you can't know. You can't know what will be right or what will be better. All you can do is the best that you can in any situation." She smiled at his stricken expression. "I'm not going to lie to make you feel better. This is  _hard work_. But you're strong, Anduin, and you're smart, and you're compassionate. You don't want people to suffer or die and so you will figure out a way to help them."

He looked down at his hands. "What if I can't?"

Jaina was silent for a moment. "Sometimes people will die because you do nothing. Sometimes they will die doing things that you asked them to do."

"Like Imuruk."

"Yes," she said softly.

"My father- I know my father- I know he- I know that he was trying to protect me. Protect everyone, really."

Jaina nodded.

The two sentries charged down the stairs, breathless. Neither of them bowed.

"King, Lady- the dragon is leaving! He flew west, out to sea!"

Anduin stood up. "May the Maelstrom's winds bring him down and drown him."

The first foreign emissary to Stormwind arrived moments later through the portal Jaina had formed. He was Draenei, and he stared at Jaina with open surprise. She ignored him. The others trickled in over a period of half an hour. There was no small talk. When a new dignitary arrived, one of the others would quietly recap all they knew and the conversation would continue.

Tirion Fordring was last to arrive. Jaina turned her gaze aside and listened to Anduin debate strategy. She added her voice to the discussion only when bid to do so. Tirion watched her but each time she looked up, he lowered his eyes.

Anduin looked at no one; he stared into the middle distance as he spoke. He was sweating with the almost-physical effort of articulating himself in proper language to the basement full of emissaries, but he was succeeding. They tried to interrupt him several times at the beginning of the meeting and Anduin simply kept on speaking, hands clasped behind his back, eyes focused on nothing.

He reminded Jaina of an astronomer. A friend of her father had taken an interest in the stars and he had described to Jaina the way he looked at nothing in order to make out the faint lights of distant stars. Anduin looked at none of them but heard them all. He was fourteen years old and he heard them all and they had no choice but to hear him because he was the King of his domain and they were his guests and allies.

A course of action was decided upon and Jaina set to opening portals again.

Tirion Fordring paused beside her. She glanced up at him and he met her eyes for a brief second. Then he looked away and stepped through the portal without a word, vanishing as it dissolved behind him.

Anduin put a hand on her arm. "Lady Proudmoore, you have done so much for me already this day." He looked around. The basement was now empty save for one of the sentries and the two of them. His shoulders sank and he let out a sigh. "I'm sure I should be worrying about something right now but I'm so tired I can't- I can't even think."

Jaina nodded and resisted the urge to tousle his hair. She remembered Varok Saurfang patting her on the head the morning after her ascension. She compromised and put a steadying hand on Anduin's shoulder.

"Eat something. Get some rest," she said.

Anduin hugged her abruptly. "Thank you," he whispered. "If I- if I need your counsel, I will contact you."

"I will do what I can," she said with a smile, then held the young King out at arm's length. "Anduin, I'm proud of you."

"Quit it. You're making me sniffle."

"Sorry." Jaina bowed. "Fare well, my King," she said.

"Fare well, Lady Proudmoore."

* * *

The portal opened in the great hall of Icecrown Citadel and Jaina stepped out, alone. She was aware that she reeked of smoke and magic. The hall was warm, filled with people and light; the Scourge and the Nerubians and the mish-mash of Starkweather's construction crew, all of whom looked as exhausted as she felt but markedly more positive. There was food and coffee and spirits on over-turned barrels and Starkweather was tuning his fiddle.

All of them fell silent at Jaina's appearance. She straightened her tattered dress.

"We are at war."

A hush fell over the room.

"I have sworn aid to the city of Stormwind, and to its ruler, my friend, King Anduin Wrynn."

Kel'Thuzad watched from the back of the hall as she continued to speak. The Scourge listened, rapt by default, but the Nerubians were attentive to her words as well. Anu'Shukhet came up beside him. Kel'Thuzad didn't acknowledge her until Jaina had finished speaking and began to make her way toward the stairs.

"I will not fight this war unless it comes to our shores," the Nerubian General murmured to Kel'Thuzad. "The terms of our alliance are for trade only, not battle."

"What do you call our contest against the volcano just now?" said Kel'Thuzad. "Real estate management?"

"An act of nature," said Anu'Shukhet.

"Provoked by the madness of the dragon that destroyed Stormwind. If it weren't for Deathwing's influence, the volcano would still be dormant."

"The terms of our treaty are not martial, lich."

"Hmph. I rather think you would have fun mauling elementals and drakes and whatever else he decides to send at the next city he targets."

Anu'Shukhet gave a hiss of amusement, then straightened as Jaina began to make her way through the crowd toward them.

"Lady King," Anu'Shukhet nodded.

"General," Jaina replied softly. For a long moment, she didn't speak. She stared at the floor and then took a deep breath. "Imuruk lost his life in the battle. He stood bravely against Deathwing." She swallowed, emotion overwhelming her brittle composure. "Anu'Shukhet, I... I am deeply sorry. Please, if there is anything..."

"There is not," Anu'Shukhet replied, her deep voice little more than a whisper. She looked down at Jaina, green eyes twitching with some unfathomable emotion, and then she turned and left the hall.

"But he's a shaman!" spat Kel'Thuzad. "Can't he reanimate himself? The spell is  _instant_!"

"He didn't have ti-"

" _Idiot_!" snarled Kel'Thuzad and whirled away, shoulders hunched, long talons flexing. "Foolish!" The crowd scattered in his path and Jaina put a hand to her forehead, hiding her eyes for a brief moment before she made her way slowly toward her chamber.

* * *

It was raining when Jaina woke up. At first the sound of water pattering against her window was so alien that she couldn't place it. It had rained everyday in Theramore, she remembered. Every afternoon, predictable as clockwork. Jaina got up slowly, her muscles stiff and bruised. She stood at the window, watching until the rain stopped.

The world had gone crazier overnight. Deathwing had made landfall in Kalimdor, attacking Orgrimmar and then heading south. Jaina waited, holding her breath for news of Theramore, but Deathwing passed by her old home, pausing briefly to start an immense grass fire in the Barrens.

There were three nervous-looking envoys awaiting audience with Jaina, all of whom had arrived via portal on her doorstep after she had retired, much to the consternation of Starkweather. The Death Knight was keeping an unwelcoming eye on the trio.

Jaina met with each envoy separately, nodding her way through three similar, breathless descriptions of elemental attacks and dragon sightings.

The last envoy was from Dalaran. Jaina didn't hide her surprise. After the young man, just barely out of his apprenticeship, finished describing the attacks suffered by the mage's city, he drew a thin bound volume from his satchel.

"Lady Proudmoore, there is one last item I have been asked to address with you. Dalaran wishes to know the true identity of this author. Er, the author of this article. If you know their identity, that is." He flipped to a page and held it out to her.  _Kazimir Frostblood._

Jaina picked up the Dalaran Journal of Thaumatechnology and found herself looking at Kel'Thuzad's paper on the healing applications of necromancy. "Kel'Thuzad," she said.

The apprentice flinched. "Dalaran wishes to know if you were aware of this deception?"

"No," she lied, and turned the page. "Have you read it?"

"Yes." The envoy paused. "It makes sense," he fumed.

"No one ever accused Kel'Thuzad of being stupid. What would Dalaran have me do?"

The man chewed his lip. "They didn't say."

"Good. Kel'Thuzad is a citizen of my sovereign state and it is not Dalaran's place to decide what punishment my citizens should endure for literary dishonesty."

The apprentice nodded. "Yes, Lady Proudmoore. Thank you for your attention."

Jaina escorted him out and went to see Kel'Thuzad. The lich was in his laboratory, alone, contemplating a steaming flask of some violently green solution, arms folded over his chest. He looked up when she entered.

"I see you accommodated the peer reviewers' recommendations," she said and tossed the folded journal onto the table. He eyed it for a moment. Jaina read all kinds of amusement in his body language.

"They're lucky they were anonymous."

Jaina sat down on the bench furthest from the mysterious bubbling liquid. "At least you thanked them. You didn't even put me in the acknowledgements."

"You were the case study."

"Not for my part in the research, for the sixteen split infinitives that never made it to your peer reviewers."

Kel'Thuzad grunted. "At least I know how to use an apostrophe."

Jaina made an exaggerated sniff of offense and then was quiet for a minute. "I left Anduin in Elwynn Forest with a group of refugees. I didn't know what to tell him, Kel'Thuzad."

Kel'Thuzad didn't turn around. "You were in shock, too." He picked up a spark lighter and fiddled with the tool before replying. "Why should you have to tell him anything?" he asked.

"Because he's not ready to be King," she said. "He doesn't even know what he doesn't  _know_  yet. He's not like his father and all of the allies that his father collected are going to look at him and see a fourteen-year-old boy who practices holy magic rather than a gladiator and they'll doubt him. They'll disregard him and manoeuvre around him and trample his authority." She grimaced.

Kel'Thuzad squeezed the spark lighter, scraping the flint and steel over each other. "You empathize with the boy's position."

Jaina bit her lip. "At least I was accustomed to ruling a kingdom."

"Ah. Well, he'll learn," said the lich. "Or he'll die trying."

"Kel'Thuzad..."

He turned around and folded his arms across his chest. "Jaina, he's been Crown Prince of Stormwind since he was born. He's studied to take over that kingdom his entire life. Varian Wrynn didn't exactly live quietly and the boy has probably imagined a scenario where his father died violently. Now he has to face it. I fail to share your anxiety and your desire to meddle in politics."

"It's not meddling-"

"It  _is_  meddling."

"It's  _not_. Anduin is my friend-"

"For now. What if he's a rubbish politician? Or he makes decisions that you disagree with? What if he turns into a power-hungry tyrant? Odds are good he'll be too gentle and forgiving and get himself assassinated, but stranger things have happened."

"Kel'Thuzad!" she snapped. Sometimes it was hard to tell whether the lich was playing devil's advocate because he was genuinely trying to help or because the part just came naturally. "The point is that I don't know what sort of politician he will be and I would like to help him become the best King that he can be. He needs to know that he has support, guidance, and loyal allies."

Kel'Thuzad tapped his teeth. "You and the boy. Kingship thrust upon you, unwanted, allies and friends uncertain of your abilities and allegiances..." His voice trailed off and he cocked his head. "You want him to achieve easily what you struggled for. Interesting."

Jaina's pale brows knit. "Yes. I didn't enjoy the hardships this position brought me and I wouldn't wish Anduin to endure them either. I made my mistakes in Theramore, surrounded by friends and allies. It was a tolerant environment and we were not at war. If I can somehow make Anduin's reign easier, then I will."

They peered at each other across the room.

Kel'Thuzad looked down at the spark lighter still in his grip. "We're very different, aren't we?" he said at last.

Jaina pursed her lips. "Yes. But also no. You helped me."

"With your studies, because you are my King."

"At first. I would like to think, now, that we're more than just an unwilling teacher and student."

Kel'Thuzad faced her fully and something in his posture made him seem unbearably awkward for a moment. "Sometimes it's hard to separate you from Arthas, despite your many differences."

Jaina's eyes widened.

Kel'Thuzad placed the spark lighter back on the counter and looked down at it. "You are an easy King to follow and so was he. I loved him, I think. But... Arthas' malice was breath-taking. It was pure and irresistible. You felt it, didn't you? In the Halls of Reflection?"

Jaina's skin prickled with remembered cold and fear. "Yes."

"Your compassion is as powerful as his malice but I find it... harder to understand. Cruelty is simple, bloodthirst is simple, even the desire to dominate is simple despite the machinations necessary to achieve it." He paused. "Love, empathy,  _attachment_  is complex and..." He tapped his teeth. "Constantly evolving. It makes eternal loyalty more difficult."

"It makes leading difficult," said Jaina. "And maintaining alliances. I still have enormous respect for Highlord Fordring, despite what he may think of me." She joined Kel'Thuzad at his bench and surveyed the array of ingredients before him. "May I ask you a personal question?"

"Yes."

"Why didn't you try to kill me? You could have, in the beginning, I think. You could have helped the Death Knights assassinate me."

He nodded. "I thought about it. You were still new to the power. I could still work around your control a little bit. King or not, however, I don't know that I could best you in a serious fight." He hissed in amusement. "My ego would say yes, but cold practicality says probably not."

"So why didn't you try?"

"I was curious," he said with a shrug. "Logically, there were much worse possibilities. You had experience ruling a kingdom and commanding magic. You weren't Tirion Fordring or Darion Mograine. You were too strong for the power of the Helm to swallow your will." He paused and cocked an eye down at her. "And, your mark on that Advanced Conjuration final notwithstanding, I always liked you a little bit. So, tell me: why didn't you have me executed?"

Jaina's lips quirked into a smile. She reached for a beaker. "Because the only other way to have an intelligent conversation around here would be to talk to myself."

Kel'Thuzad chuckled. "And people wonder why I had a cat..."


	22. Ever Your Ally

**Chapter 22 – Ever Your Ally**

 

Kel'Thuzad extended the sword toward Jaina's throat and held it there, unwavering. Jaina was momentarily preoccupied by his weapon of choice; he did not typically favour swords.

“Your reign is over,” he said. Between his bony fingers, the sword's grip was rimed with frost: big, rough crystals that hissed and purred as they grew along his metacarpals and slowly climbed his wrist. The crimson light in his eye-sockets flared for a moment and he inclined his head, expressionless skull seeming to grin down at her in triumph.

“This is mine now.” He twisted the sword, calling her attention back to the flawless saronite blade hovering a whisper's breadth from her neck. “And this too.” With his other hand, he raised the Helm of Domination, black and loathsome, dripping from the inside.

Jaina paused a moment before answering. She analyzed her surroundings, keeping eye contact. There was no wind; the air was cool against her cheek. Her clothes felt grimy, like she had been wearing them for days, and her boots were sodden inside. But she wasn't cold. She was rather warm, in fact, comfortable and quite calm, as though this betrayal and the savage battle she would now need to engage were-

Oh.

Jaina was dreaming. She supposed she must dream every night, but it had been a long time she had found herself lucid inside her own cluttered unconscious.

“Frostmorne was shattered,” she told the figure of Kel'Thuzad. “And the Helm is mine.”

He melted into mist before her.

Jaina's hand became heavy then, filled with an unfamiliar weight. She found herself dressed in armour, plate armour that no mage would ever wear, and a helm- no, it was _the_ Helm, for she remembered how it narrowed her vision when she wore it. She began to walk and then she could see herself from outside.

She held Frostmourne now. She wielded the blade as easily as a wand and she watched as her own arm raised it to cleave the chest of a knight in Stormwind regalia. From beneath the Helm, her white hair streamed, ragged and overlong, and no breath issued from the metal slit over her lips.

This, too, dissolved.

Now she was leaning her elbows on the top rail of a paddock fence. Inside the paddock were a boy and a horse. The horse was in high spirits, tail flagging as it trotted obediently around the boy in a circle, tossing it's head when he called praise or correction to it. Jaina relaxed against the rough wood. She slitted her eyes against the high summer sun and took a deep breath, smelling hay and grass and the distant tang of salt-water. This was some aggregation of memories, of things that still brought her contentment, things that she acknowledged she had lost forever or exchanged for new happiness.

She lingered in the scene, watching young Arthas and his beloved steed. He was oblivious to her presence and after a while, she let her subconscious roam away, though the sense of contentment remained.

She found herself curled up on a couch before a steady fire, a book in her lap and the plague hound Dreilide asleep at her feet. Snow careened past the window, streaks of white against a dark background, and Jaina settled into the familiar surroundings.

Jaina woke to muffled conversation and the soft creak of wood. Her nose was cold. She snuggled down further under her blankets for a moment, perusing the content of her dreams.

She did not really fear betrayal by her best lieutenant. Kel'Thuzad was amaranthine and contrary, but he forced her to defend and examine her ideas, and that made her stronger. Jaina cast aside the vision of herself walking undead through an abattoir of her own making; old fears, recycled and blunted. She smiled at the memory of Arthas as she had loved him. There was sadness there, but no anger or confusion. She _had_ loved him, and it was over.

She would rather dream of ice, these days.

Jaina sat up and fumbled for stockings. She pulled them under the blankets for a few minutes before putting them on, then lunged out of bed and hastily donned the rest of her attire with practised speed. She contemplated putting on gloves before she left her cabin, but decided they were superfluous.

She was on a ship, slipping silently through a subtle fog controlled and directed by Taunka shaman. From above, the fog was probably quite obvious and suspicious, and trouble these days tended to come from above, but it hid the number of her company and what equipment her ships were carrying.

“Coffee, your Majesty?” The ship's Captain, a living, Taunka man with tawny fur, approached her.

“Yes,” she replied and accepted the mug. It was still dark; pre-dawn, she guessed. They moved without lights aboard. Somewhere beyond the fog, there would still be stars visible. “Have there been sightings?”

“One, Majesty. Two shapes, both large, both heading south-east two hours and ten minutes ago. They didn't slow or change course when they neared our position; I'm not sure they spotted us.”

“Intent on their target, perhaps. Our progress?”

“On schedule, Lady King, although the wind is changing. We may need to break out the oars.”

“Whatever you deem necessary, Captain.”

“As you will.” He bowed and strode away across the deck, hooves making muffled thumps in the dense, unnatural fog.

Jaina cupped her hands around the aluminium mug and let the steam warm her face. 

* * *

Roxie Rocketsocks was long past the point of exhaustion. She had been keeping track of the hours she did not sleep as she dragged herself, step by stubborn step, towards the northern shore of the broken Wetlands. Now, she thought she might have the numbers backwards, but really how much of a difference did it make when the number of sleepless hours was either 45 or 54? Well, 54 was probably worse. It was also probably the correct number.

But she had been told she would find the Marshal and his army- or what was left of it- on an island beyond the bay and she had an important message to deliver with all haste. When _didn't_ Roxie have an important message to deliver?

In the nine months since Deathwing had razed Stormwind and taken off on a world-wide tour of destruction, Roxie had run important messages from one end of Azeroth to the other. In fact, she had managed to log more kilometres than any other postal goblin so far that year, a feat which she made sure had resulted in prodigious pay raises.

Not that gold mattered a jot when her woolen socks were soaked through with putrid marsh water. Roxie would put up with a lot of discomfort in the name of mail circulation, but wet feet was the very last straw. She was miserable and that made her irritable. Which, in turn, made her nearly unstoppable in the face of potential obstacles, but she didn't want to waste time maiming Gnoll sentinels, she just wanted to reach a damn boat to go to the damn island so she could deliver her message, take a nap, catch a meal, and head off to her next (hopefully less damp) assignment.

And now, having knocked out the guards and slunk through yet more smelly black water, she had arrived at the small ferry that would convey her to Tol Barad.

“Ye'll have ta help us row,” said the scrawny dwarf in charge of the ferry. “Wind's're strange t'night.” Gritting her teeth, Roxie set to. One every stroke, she was aware of the missive in its waterproof pouch, strapped to her waist beneath her filthy uniform, bending and wrinkling, as she pulled the oars.

As they drew out beyond the reaching peninsula that was Gilneas to the north, the wind returned somewhat and the ferry captain raised a small, square sail. Roxie sat back, massaging her aching biceps with one hand. The dwarves watched her mutely.

She smelled woodsmoke first, and then a bouquet of other burning materials. The nearer they drew to the island- a humped, charcoal smudge on the bleakly grey horizon- the more acrid and stifling the smoke became. Roxie wrapped a wet cloth over her mouth and nose.

“This's as far as we go,” said the captain, crouching between the gunwales, eyes darting fitfully toward the looming landmass. “Ye'll have to swim.”

“Or I'll knock you all overboard and take your boat and _you'll_ have to swim,” she said through bared teeth. The dwarvish crew- there were only three of them- shifted nervously.

“Tis death to go any closer, lass,” said the captain. “Horde an' Alliance be clashin' day an' night. There's mines in the water an' stray mortars in t'air.”

“Do you hear mortar fire?” hissed Roxie. “Do you hear _anything_? No one is fighting.”

“P'raps it's a ruse?”

“They're hiding,” she said. “Because they know there's something worse than each other out there and they don't want to attract its attention. Now the faster you get me to land, the faster you can turn around and go home.”

Dwarves were, Roxie noted, known for their sense of honour, and none of the three ragged ferry crew were any less than typical dwarves, apparently. To flee and abandon her here, in the water, would be a shameful course of action and postal workers did tend to get around and take tales of shifty boatmen with them. They debated briefly among themselves, but decided to comply, and presently Roxie was creeping across blackened sand into the smoky battleground of Tol Barad.

Had she been better rested or less distracted by her wet socks, Roxie might have seen the first mine. As it was, she heard the metallic click as she set her weight on the trigger and froze.

“Figures.”

She leaned over and gingerly swept the sand away from the object with her fingertips. It was Gnomish in design, which Roxie found heartening: it meant she had landed near the Alliance encampment, which was where she needed to be. The ferry had come up from the south-east and deposited Roxie on the shattered strand outside Baradin Base Camp.

From then on, it was a simple task to disarm the mine and move vigilantly across the beach to the hazy shapes of the base camp, visible through the omnipresent smoke.

Or rather, what remained of the camp. Roxie met several rats and a skinny dog, but no living Alliance citizens. The camp was little more than a swath of charred sand and the skeletal frames of burnt-out building. Thick timbers, still aglow, indicated former fortifications. Bones, bits of metal, spikes and axles from destroyed siege machines, canons, and one bedraggle blue pennant littered the site.

“Dragons,” she muttered. Was she too late?

Roxie picked her way across scorched earth to Hellscream's Grasp and found the Horde headquarters in a similar state.

For a moment she stood still. She listened to the quiet sounds on the wind, and took deep breaths of the acrid air. There were no voices, no click or clatter of armoured bodies, but neither was there the tell-tale cry of gulls or crows. There were no corpses left unattended for the birds to feed on, and a lack of corpses on a battlefield meant that both sides still numbered enough to retrieve their dead and wounded.

“Baradin Hold,” she murmured to herself, and set out for the Blackstone Span.

She managed to cross it and enter the broken gates before she was halted.

“Where'd you come from? How'd you get here?” A bearded human man thrust a spear toward her.

Roxie frowned. “Get that thing outta my face and back off. I'm with the Azeroth Postal Service and I have a letter for the Marshal.”

“Marshal's dead,” hissed a sallow-faced Blood Elf woman. She was pointing a crossbow at Roxie's feet with what appeared to be the last of her strength.

Roxie looked from one to the other. “What the hell happened? I thought you guys were fighting each other.”

The human and the Blood Elf exchanged a weary glance. “Temporary cease-fire,” said the bearded man.

“We've got...bigger problems,” said the Blood Elf.

“The fire-breathing kind with scales, I assume,” said Roxie. “Anyway, if the marshal's dead, I need to speak to the commander.”

“Also dead.”

“The major, then.”

“Dead too.”

“Well, who's alive? Who's in command? One of the Horde?”

The Blood Elf pursed her lips in annoyance. “They're dead.”

“Who's dead?”

“Everyone important,” said the human man.

“Well, s _hit_ ,” said Roxie. “Who's in charge? Somebody must've made the ceasefire stick or y'all'd be out there having a ridiculous melee.”

The two shared another glance. Roxie cocked a hip impatiently; her socks squelched.

“You're with the postal service?” Roxie nodded. “Prove it,” said the human, so Roxie knocked them both out, tied their ankles together, and dragged them into Baradin Hold until she met more guards who could give her better answers.

These guards- a Worgen and a Troll- brought her into Baradin Hold proper, down to a cellar crammed with miserable, tired warriors. At the back of the room, sleeves rolled up to his elbows, leaning over a writhing Orc, was a hollow-eyed youth flanked by two Draenei priests.

“Y'all had me worried,” said Roxie. “ _That's_ the guy I wanted to see.”

“Anders? He's some kid,” said the Worgen, confused.

“ _Anders_ ? That's Anduin Wrynn, you dunce. _King_ Anduin Wrynn. Like, the leader of the kingdom of Stormwind?” Roxie didn't waste time enjoying their expressions. She hurried over to the young priest. “Pardon me Your Majesty. I have a message from your Aunt.”

* * *

 

Anduin nodded but didn't look up. Sweat beaded his brow under a shock of dirty, blond hair. The Orc woman on the table relaxed as the pale light between his hands swelled over her wounds and a moment later, he straightened up and she relaxed into unconsciousness.

“I don't have an Aunt,” he said to the postal goblin. To either side, his Draenei guardians tensed.

“It's from King Jaina,” said the goblin. She dug under her tattered vest and produced a latter. It was crumpled but the wax seal was still intact, Anduin noted with surprise. He took it from her with a nod of respect, and scanned the letter. Excitement flooded him with renewed energy.

Then, from somewhere above them there was a bestial scream, followed by an earth-shaking impact.

“They're back!” someone yelled, and every conscious occupant of the room fumbled stubbornly for their weapons. Anduin stuffed the letter into his pocket with a shaking hand.

“Have hope!” he shouted over the rising chaos of desperate warriors. “Reinforcements are all but upon us!”

“Praise the Light!” cheered the Draenei priest at his side.

“Well, not exactly,” murmured Anduin.

The postal goblin put a hand on the Draenei's sleeve.

“Hey, do you guys got an extra cot I could sack out on for a couple minutes before this place is on fire?”

Anduin shook his head at her nonchalance and forced himself into a trot as he climbed the stairs.

“The cannons are all smashed,” said the priestess. “Arrows are useless. Our magic is weakened by fatigue. How will we repel them until reinforcements arrive?”

“We don't have to repel them for long,” said Anduin, squinting into the smoke as they left the cellar stairs. The sun was up, an angry red masked by shifting smoke. Anduin calculated it was around ten o'clock. Jaina was punctual to a fault; the dragons would be in for a surprise. “We just need to distract them for a few more minutes.”

“Anders!” A man in tattered Gilneas colours slid to a halt. “There are ships out there, to the north! Ships with black sails!” His voice cracked and he swallowed, too frightened and tired for embarrassment.

“Black dragonflight!” gasped the priestess.

“They're too far away, I can't make out their heraldry for certain but-”

“It's the Lich King,” said Anduin and for the first time in weeks, he felt a frisson of mad glee. “She's coming to our aid.” Mutters spread through the gathered fighters. Anduin saw uncertainty on their faces.

The two Draenei shared a dubious glance. “You cannot be sure, Anduin. Black sails...”

“It's Jaina,” he said with certainty. “Where are the dragons?”

“Circling, your Majesty. We must stay under cover.”

“If she's coming by sea, she will need a place to land her troops.”

Tol Barad Island was roughly square, surrounded by rocky cliffs on three sides and a treacherously narrow straight spanned by the Blackstone on the fourth. There was nowhere to land on the island itself; Jaina would have to disembark on the peninsula, where the ruins of both factions' base camps would provide little in the way of cover. Jaina had chosen the only available location to put ashore.

“Wellson Shipyard,” said Anduin. “Or, you know, what's left of it. She's coming in to the Shipyard. We have to distract them long enough for her to unload-”

“Here they come!”

The dragons were adults, big glistening black beasts with thick spiralled horns and sickle claws, wingspans wider than Anduin's field of vision as they swooped out of the smoke.

“Drakes!” Someone screamed behind them and Anduin whirled to see a mass of lithe shapes galloping out of the pall from the other direction.

“Make for the span!” he bellowed, momentarily shaken by how much he sounded like his father. “To the shipyard!”

To call it a running battle would be too charitable. It was a frenzied, barely shielded rout. They made it to the shipyard, fleeing to every nook and crevice where the dragonfire could not reach them, and then suddenly, the dragons turned away. The drakes retreated into the drifting smoke. No one dared to move.

“What's going on?” whispered a Worgen crouched inside the door of a warehouse where Anduin had taken shelter.

“They're trying to draw us out,” murmured the goblin postal worker who had brought Jaina's message to Anduin. She had a dagger in one fist and what appeared to be a cup of coffee in the other. The Worgen dared to peer out of one smashed window.

“There's a ship in the harbour,” she whispered. “Black sails.”

Anduin crept over beside her.

The sails were doused, the ship swaying at anchor. It appeared deserted. There was a thick fog creeping in around it, tendrils reaching through the rigging toward the wharf. Through the fog came the silhouette of another ship, and behind it, another. All three made anchor within metres of each other. The muffled sound of a ratcheting chain reached their ears from the last ship, but other than that, there was no evidence that any of them were crewed.

The dragons evidently weren't taking chances. Both of them dived at the first ship, flames leading the way, but the befogged rigging did not take light easily. They came around for a second pass.

From beneath a netted mass of supplies on deck, an enormous form erupted. At first Anduin could not name what it was, for it reared up so quickly, baying with a furious, alien voice. One of the dragons turned, great wings scooping the air as it steadied itself.

Anduin registered the insectoid shape, a sapphire carapace, and the briefest glimpse of overlapping blue-and-gold regalia on the creature's shoulders as it lunged. The dragon twisted in mid-air but the Nerubian Spiderlord snatched it down in a crushing, serrated embrace. The dragon's momentum carried them both over the side of the ship, a mass of thrashing claws and frantically beating wings.

The ships exploded with action then, swarms of figures purged from every hatch. They flung themselves overboard without care and Anduin realized that they had no reason to mind the cold, suffocating water: the Scourge had arrived.

“Wait,” he hissed, when someone gave a thready cheer. “Wait.”

The second dragon returned, braying indignantly, circling and breathing fire, diving and snapping at the streams of undead soldiers still exiting the ships. They began to emerge on the shore, wet and uncaring, clambering over rocks and onto piers, brandishing swords and axes and crossbows, and the drakes reappeared, called out of the smoke by their older sibling. The battle was joined.

“Okay, now we can cheer,” said the postal goblin. The Worgen beside Anduin gave an uncertain growl.

“To arms!” Anduin bellowed. The goblin and the Worgen both vaulted the low wall and charged into the fray.

At the shoreline, the water began to churn, foam tinged pink. The brilliant blue carapace of the Nerubian warrior burst upwards, then sank back.

“Can it swim?” asked the Draenei priest, on his feet.

“I... I don't know,” said Anduin. He knew that the living Nerubians were allied with Jaina, so he assumed the creature was not undead and that it would need to breathe. “Let us render aid.”

The second dragon had a different idea. It too had noticed the splashing and zeroed in on the Spiderlord's location, banking with murderous intent. Anduin began to raise a golden shield of light between the two but he was not fast enough.

Before the dragon struck, something huge and pale dropped out of the fog and slammed into it, bludgeoning it sideways with a screech. Anduin caught a flash of tattered wings and the round hollow of an eye-socket.

“Ice wyrm!” the Draenei priestess screamed. She cowered and Anduin reached over to pat her arm.

“It's here to help,” Anduin assured her. “Come on. The ice wyrm fights for Lady Jaina and for us, now.”

The Nerubian dragged itself ashore and waded through the drakes toward Anduin's position.

“Hail Anduin Wrynn, Human King of Stormwind!” The creature swatted a drake aside. “I am Anu'Shukhet, General of the Northern Front. We bring reinforcements and transportation!”

Anduin stepped forward and held up a hand in greeting. “Hail, Anu'Shukhet! You are a most welcome sight on these shores.”

The Spiderlord trampled another drake- more by accident than design, Anduin thought- and halted several metres from him, eyeing his out-stretched hand. The pair of Draenei priests crowded close behind Anduin, both bristling with uncertainty. “Well met, Anduin Wrynn,” said Anu'Shukhet, and gave him a nod of respect, “Our Lady King speaks well of you. How fares your corner of the war?”

Anduin glanced about the shipyard, at his bedraggled, mixed-species company slowly emerging from the ruins. “I won't lie, sir. It has been dire, until your timely arrival.”

“Ma'am,” said Anu'Shukhet.

“What?”

“You've mistaken my gender.”

“My apologies,” said Anduin quickly, “I've only ever met one other of your kind.”

“Yes. He was my mate. Imuruk,” she said, the deep resonance of her voice purring with fondness. “He is well remembered.” She turned, fluttering her hind wings, and surveyed the ships at anchor. “The Captain tells me the tide will turn soon; let's get your people on board and to safety.”

It took the better part of high tide to get Anduin's motley company situated on the Scourge ships and still Anduin had not seen a glimpse of Jaina.

“I would very much like to speak with your Lady King,” he told Anu'Shukhet. The Spiderlord was nestled into her own special seat, a reinforced hold sunk into the deck which put her at roughly eye level with Anduin.

“The Lady King is not aboard this ship,” said Anu'Shukhet. “She stayed at sea with the Admiral to watch for more dragon filth. We will rejoin the fleet tonight. You may speak with her then.”

“Fleet?” said Anduin.

Anu'Shukhet nodded. “Deathwing avoids Northrend,” she said. “Lichlord Kel'Thuzad guesses it has something to do with the presence of Dalaran. Apparently the mages there brought him down once before, though they failed to finish the job. Lady Jaina believes it is the cold weather acting on Deathwing's iron skin. I tend to believe the bastard just wants to keep his one remaining eye safe from Jaina's wrath.” She chuckled darkly. “You were there.”

“Yes.”

Anu'Shukhet ground her mandibles together in a gesture Anduin chose to interpret as approval rather than hunger. “Whatever the truth is, since Deathwing will not come to us, the Lady King elected we bring the war to him. The little tusked sea people on the southern shores built ships to her specifications; the Taunka shamans and druids protect them; Lady Jaina grew up at a sea admiral's knee, and she commands us.”

“And you?” said Anduin, finding himself fascinated by the Spiderlord.

Anu'Shukhet turned one green eye on him, appearing thoughtful. “I hate boats and I hate water, but I hate the dragons more.”

* * *

They moved out to sea with the tide. After an hour, the fog began to unwrap itself from the trio of ships, and Anduin stood on the deck beside the two Draenei, gripping the Spiderlord's armoured shoulder to steady himself against the motion of the ship. Behind them, a Kaluak navigator called out occasionally to the Night Elf Death Knight at the helm. Their common language appeared to be Orcish. Anduin shook his head in wonder.

Anduin sensed the rest of the fleet before he saw them. They too had done away with the cloak of fog but to a priest of the Light, attuned to holy magic and protection, the Scourge ships stood out regardless of visual deception.

There was a tingle of cold that never completely faded when Anduin was around Jaina or the Scourge. He felt that first. Then, as they came closer, he felt an ominous well of power, of restrained intent, and the crawling black tendrils of necromancy that couldn't quite keep itself from creeping toward the living. Anduin's holy senses automatically focused on this locus of ill-will and he had to calm himself in order to see the greater magic that lurked, quiet and awesome, beyond it like a wall.

That, he recognized, was Kel'Thuzad and Jaina.

“I think I remember you telling me that the last time you were at sea, you were an infant and lost adrift.” The Lich King's voice sifted through the thick air between the ships. Anduin tried not to smile. “I can't put much stock in your nautical advice, Kel'Thuzad.”

The lichlord responded with a hiss. “I think we are matched when it comes to naval experience, your pedigree notwithstanding.”

They were close enough for Anduin to see them now, in the yellow light of lanterns along the railings, Jaina's petite, purple-clad figure dwarfed by her skeletal lieutenant. Jaina glanced toward the approaching ship and raised one hand in greeting, then turned back to Kel'Thuzad. “We will leave the matter to Admiral Whitehoof, then. Agreed?”

“How does a Tauren from land-locked _Mulgore_ become a naval Admiral, anyway?”

“Skill and experience,” replied Jaina, “Come, let the man do his job.”

She drew a deep breath and let it out slowly, then blinked across the space between the two ships.

“Lady Proudmoore,” said Anduin and his practised expression split into a grin. He embraced her, surprised to discover that he was almost a head taller than her now.

“King Anduin,” she said fondly and held him at arm's length, just long enough to make him feel like the Crown Prince again, and he blushed.

“Well met,” he replied with a courtly bow. “May I present High Priest Lallor and Priestess Amyuet of the Exodar. They have been valuable advisors and companions during the siege.” The two Draenei behind him bowed also, rather stiffly, luminous eyes round with distrust. “Esteemed companions, this is my friend Lady Jaina Proudmoore, the Lich King of Northrend.”

“A pleasure,” said Jaina, and offered her hand. Lallor took it warily, then Amyuet. They nodded and stepped back, sharing a glance. “Welcome to the Scourge Armada. I realize you have weary and injured soldiers with you. We will put into port at Menethil Harbour so that they may disembark.”

“Ah, some of the soldiers are Horde,” said Anduin.

“Then they are welcome to stay aboard until we reach a neutral port. Shall we discuss the details in the Captain's cabin?”

Anduin agreed and followed after her, stealing a sideways glance at the two Draenei priests. They were very nearly holding hands and he felt some contrition leaving them alone aboard the Scourge vessel.

“They are safe,” said Jaina gently. She closed the door behind Anduin and ushered him to the table that dominated the cabin space. “I am gladdened to find you well, Anduin. When you told me you were going to travel to Tol Barad on a mission of diplomacy, I was elated. And then I heard news of the siege.” She shook her head. “The Black Dragonflight is hunting you, Anduin.”

“Thus the alias,” he said. “Though by now I'm sure Deathwing's spies have learned who and where I am.”

“Which makes it all the more important to move you swiftly to Menethil Harbour, and on to Ironforge. You are planning to return to Stormwind, are you not?”

Anduin nodded. “I've been absent for almost two months. As important as it is to tour the outlying regions of the kingdom, the capital does look to their King for protection and assurance.” He grimaced. “Were it so that I could offer the people of Stormwind more of either.”

Jaina smiled. “I think you're doing a satisfactory job of it.”

“Only satisfactory?” said Anduin. He cleared his throat, embarrassed by the question.

“It is impossible to be a perfect ruler, Anduin,” said Jaina. “Satisfactory is as good as it gets.”

“Well, not for you. The Scourge doesn't vote or stage protests or write nasty opinion pieces in the Stormwind Times.”

“No, they don't. There's the Argent Dawn and Dalaran and the Exodar and Darnassus for that.”

“Menethil Harbour is the only Alliance city that will allow you into their port? _Still_?”

Jaina nodded, brows furrowing. “You can't please everyone, Anduin, especially paladins.”

“I don't know, paladins like me,” said Anduin slyly.

“You're a holy priest of the Light. I'm a...” Jaina raised both hands in exasperation. “...abomination of one kind or another. The specific classification depends on who you ask.”

“To the Scourge you're a holy priest though. I mean, you can heal them and whatnot.”

“Some of the Death Knights are still disgusted that I breathe and eat and sweat.”

Anduin laughed. “You can't please everyone, Aunt Jaina.”

* * *

“The boy makes us a giant, sailing target,” grumbled Kel'Thuzad. He drew up beside Jaina at the starboard rail, leaning down to rest his elbows on the polished wood. His kilt swayed with the subtle rhythm of the ship's motion. “You could have rescued him, given him a ship, and left him.”

“None of those people know how to sail,” said Jaina. She was making notes in a small ledger; a leather strap attached to the spine of the book was looped around her wrist. “That wouldn't be much of a rescue.”

The lich eyed her thoughtfully for a moment. “You're trying to goad Deathwing into attacking Icecrown. That's why you, me, and Anu'Shukhet are all sailing to Menethil Harbour. You're leaving the Citadel intentionally vulnerable.”

Jaina glanced up. “I certainly hope Deathwing agrees with you.”

“We're... trying to goad Deathwing into attacking Menethil Harbour by sailing to Menethil Harbour?”

“We're trying to get Deathwing to focus on us and expend his intelligence figuring out what we're doing, so that Thrall can get a supply convoy to the Isle of Kezan.”

“When did you decide this? You didn't tell me.”

“I told you I needed your expertise aboard the Armada.”

Kel'Thuzad straightened, bristling. “We're on a 'need to know basis' now, are we?”

Jaina put down the pencil. It too dangled from the book on a piece of twine. “Remember when I needed to know about those- those 'Black Card Cultists' or whatever they're calling themselves? The ones who go into battle carrying black bits of paper that mean they _want_ to be resurrected into the Scourge so they can keep on fighting the Black Dragonflight? Remember that?”

Kel'Thuzad had the decency to look chagrined. “Oh, so this is some petty vengeance? I honestly didn't think there would be so many of them. And I only raised...” He counted on his fingers. “Twelve of them, anyway.”

“It's not that, Kel'Thuzad. It's not petty revenge. Although, that's twelve people with families and friends who blamed _me_ for turning them into mindless walking corpses.”

“It was _their choice_ to become part of the Scourge. I merely affected their final wish.”

“It's more complex than that and you know it.”

“It isn't more complex than that, Jaina. If they die fighting Deathwing, they don't want to stay dead but they also don't want to be autonomous. They'd rather let your will drive them on to vengeance.” He clicked his teeth. “Rather lazy of them, really. If they were so keen on personal revenge, you'd think they'd go to Sylvanas.”

“You went ahead and resurrected them. I didn't find out for a week.”

Now the lich had a stubborn cant to his skull. “It was their wish.”

“We should have discussed it first and made the discussion public. Now the whole legitimacy of their argument is caught up in _your_ personal history and my political position.” Jaina sighed.

“Tirion's on your back again, eh?”

“Oh, the debate is just crawling with paladins now!” She frowned, staring out across the water. The wind ruffled her pale hair and threw a lock of it across the bridge of her nose.

Kel'Thuzad pushed the stray hair aside with the tip of one talon. “All right. So why do we care about Kezan?”

“I care about Thrall and the success of his mission to Kezan.”

“You're using an entire armada of ships as a distraction.” Kel'Thuzad steepled his bony fingers. “I like this. You may turn evil yet.”

Jaina made a face. “Deathwing responds to displays of power.”

“And he loathes you.”

“Which means he can't help but monitor us and attempt to thwart whatever we're doing.”

“Which brings me back to the boy.”

“Indeed?”

“This fleet is much too tempting for Deathwing with the boy aboard. You and the King of Stormwind, travelling together? The woman who took his eye, and the boy who survived to rally his people into...” Kel'Thuzad made a vague gesture, “...you know, some nationalistic fervour. The kingdom of Stormwind might have collapsed into disarray after the King's death without the boy, which I'm sure was Deathwing's hope.”

“What would you have me do, Kel'Thuzad? Set Anduin adrift? He stays with us until Menethil Harbour.”

“Be careful, Jaina.” He rested his elbows on the rail again, shoulders hunched forward, gaze fixed somewhere far out at sea.

She watched him for a moment, cataloguing all the tiny scraps of body language he betrayed as he met her gaze.

“My compassion will be my undoing?” she ventured.

“As always. And it will be mine as well,” he grumbled. “So, in the event that Deathwing takes the bait, we make a portal back to Northrend and fight him all alone? I don't like this plan.”

“We're not alone, Kel'Thuzad. Deathwing has won himself a planet full of enemies.”

“Who are not exactly our allies.”

“But not exactly enemies,” she said. Kel'Thuzad made a guttural noise and Jaina glanced up in time to see him roll his eyes. “I don't believe he'll go to Northrend. He's spent nine months attacking Kalimdor and the Eastern Kingdoms; it makes no sense for him to suddenly turn on Northrend in the middle of winter.”

Kel'Thuzad contemplated the water. “You asked me to join you for my expertise. Would you like some antagonistic insight?”

“Yes.”

“Deathwing's coming here. He probably planned to intercept us as soon as he learned we were heading for the open ocean, but especially now that the boy is aboard. If I were in his position, I would be incensed by your foolishness- and it is foolishness to be out here. Offended by it, even.” He straightened, watching the horizon. “I doubt Deathwing views you as an intellectual equal, but he does have a massive ego. Learning that the woman who maimed him is brazenly sailing around is going to draw him out. We're not going to make it to Menethil Harbour, Jaina.”

She said nothing for a moment. “I couldn't leave him there, Kel'Thuzad.”

“I know you couldn't.”

“Are you ready?”

The lich cocked his head and the lanterns made long sinister shadows from his horns and tusks. “Let him come.”

* * *

They nearly made it.

Menethil Harbour was a dark smudge on the horizon, picked out with flickering yellow lights and the perpetual sweep of a lighthouse beam. It was not quite midnight; the sky was still indigo, tinged green near the horizon.

Anduin had been standing with the Night Elf Death Knight at the helm, peppering him with questions about navigation and ship work. The man answered, stiffly at first, and Anduin imagined him wading through the double-packed aloofness both Night Elves and Death Knights were known for to arrive at awkward civility. He came around after half an hour of polite curiosity and when the warning came, he was pointing out and naming the function of each piece of rigging with enthusiasm.

“Sound the alarm! Make for the harbour!”

The ships surged forward, carried by the magic will of the shamans and Druids aboard. Anduin whirled, feeling a prickle of fear and saw a spreading patch of black in the sky, growing, bearing down on them, blocking out the stars.

“Deathwing!” he yelled, and it shook him again how much he sounded like Varian Wrynn. He clenched his fists, fury and fear flooding through him. “ _Deathwing!_ ” he roared. Holy fire erased the fear and pure golden light flared around his fists.

“Quiet, boy!” Anduin turned, startled, just as Kel'Thuzad grabbed his shoulder and roughly dragged him backwards. There was a moment of vertigo for both of them as their active magic clashed, opposing disciplines flaring automatically. Then the lich was tugging him toward the rail.

“He killed my father,” Anduin spluttered as he realized Kel'Thuzad was shoving him toward a life boat. “He killed my fath-”

“Yes! How tragic! Go, now!”

Anduin paused, resisting. “I can help-”

“You can help by leaving,” said Kel'Thuzad and pushed him over the side of the ship. Anduin landed with a disgruntled yelp in the lifeboat.

“Hey! Ow! You can't do that!”

The lich laughed down at him. “Phaugh. That's never stopped me before.” He gestured to the Scourge gripping the oars. “Go.”

“No!” Anduin yelled, staggering to his feet as the undead began to row. “I can _help_! No! Jaina-!”

Jaina appeared at the railing beside Kel'Thuzad. Fire blossomed behind her and the heat blew her hair forward. “Run,” she said, “Get the living away from here. Anduin, you have to run. Stormwind needs you.”

“No! Jaina- you can't-”

“ _Go_ ,” she said and Anduin sat down hard as the Scourge heard her command. As the boat pulled away from the side of the ship, Anduin saw Deathwing, up to his shoulders in the sea, one of the Scourge ships ablaze behind him. He reared up and spread his wings, smashing the rigging on the ship to his right, and poured flames across Jaina's position.

Anduin screamed.

The flames dissipated. Steam choked the burning deck, billowing off the icy shield between Deathwing and the two figures that faced him. Both mages had their hands up, magic popping and arcing furiously between them. Anduin heard Kel'Thuzad's mad cackle from across the water and a cheer went up from the Northrend crew, living and undead alike. Anduin wanted to order the ghouls at the oars of his boat back to the ship, to stand with their King, but they had Jaina's orders, and so did he.

The ships that had not run afoul of Deathwing plunged on toward Menethil Harbour. Anduin glimpsed the ice wyrm lift off from the deck of one, howling as it climbed into the sky, but his attention was fixed on Jaina.

Perhaps she had not planned for this to happen. Perhaps Jaina had made a mistake. _It is impossible to be a perfect ruler,_ she had told him. Anduin had listened to his father in countless strategy meetings and debriefings, struggling to understand troop positions, use of terrain and weather, fortifications, and intelligence reports. He had listened as Varian Wrynn dissected the military decisions of others and he had watched his father shake his head over reports of Jaina's one messy sortie with the Vrykul.

“No one is good at everything,” he told Anduin when the Crown Prince argued that his father was being unfairly harsh on Jaina's decisions. “Jaina is a brilliant mage, but she's no strategist. She has little experience at it. And why should she? Her position on the field is the same as a piece of heavy artillery.”

Anduin swallowed, tears spilling over his lashes. Heavy artillery didn't command an army. Heavy artillery needed commanders and infantry support and-

Deathwing lunged, plowing his armoured face into the deck, jaws snapping shut with a hollow _clang_. Anduin saw two little bursts of light as Jaina and Kel'Thuzad blinked into retreat. For a moment, the dragon was absorbed in tearing the ship to splinters.

Then Anduin coughed, the air suddenly sticking in his throat, sharp and heavy. The Scourge rowed on, unperturbed, but Anduin tucked his hands into his armpits, shivering. The very air crystallized. Every whitecap sloughed down in a shower of snow.

Deathwing bellowed and huffed flame that hissed against the ice fog. He turned his attention eastward. Anduin squinted through sudden flurries of snow towards the bluffs on the edge of the harbour. He couldn't make out details at this distance. Instead, he reached out cautiously with his holy senses until he found the awesome wall of power that was Jaina's strange, mixed magic. There was a thread of darkness there now too, plaited in seamlessly, and Anduin understood that she was casting in tandem with Kel'Thuzad.

Together, they brought remorseless winter to Menethil Harbour. The sea froze. Windows shattered as their metal frames contracted. Deathwing's smoldering armour gathered bundles of hoar frost, and it squeaked and whined as he raged toward them, buckling, squeezing, warping in the ferocious cold, hindering his progress.

Jaina's breath glowed in the frigid air, illuminated by the pale radiance of her eyes. She called up her power with deliberate care. It rose and rose in steady, disciplined stages, controlled and channeled through her mortal form, fitting readily alongside Kel'Thuzad's magic. The undead Scourge swarmed across the frozen ocean toward Deathwing with single-minded ferocity and Jaina let out a long breath.

This was not like the other times that Jaina and Kel'Thuzad had fought together. The first time, when Kel'Thuzad still wore the guise of Kazimir Frostblood, Jaina had been at odds with him, with the Lich King's power, and with herself. The next time, under siege by the Vrykul, he had been exhausted and she had been dying. When Jaina stood against Ner'zhul, she was physically alone, the lich murdered and incorporeal, though she heeded his whispered guidance.

This would not be like any of their previous battles. Here, now, they were hale and ready, their wills entwined, supporting and balancing each other. Separately, each was formidable. Together, they were enough to hold Deathwing's full attention.

“Come on, then,” whispered Jaina, and the dragon heard her. “We've been waiting for you.”

At her side, Kel'Thuzad gave a rough laugh. “Time for a re-match!”

Deathwing threw himself up the side of the bluff, bellowing with threat, and poured his scalding breath over the pair. Again, they stood their ground and the dragon's roar turned shrill with incandescent rage.

“You should have fled while you had the chance,” Deathwing rumbled. He swiped molten talons at them and they blinked away. Kel'Thuzad reappeared several metres distant, crouched and focused, reaching, reaching toward the sodden, frozen, boiling earth. Jaina popped up on the dragon's back.

“There is one good thing about making our stand out here,” said the lich, casually.

Jaina hovered over Deathwing's spine and dropped the temperature until his armoured skin began to turn white beneath the iron plates. He whirled, snapping at her, forcing her to teleport again. She regrouped alongside Kel'Thuzad.

“What's that, my friend?” she panted, though the conversation was for Deathwing's benefit. She already understood his intent.

“This land is the site of many ancient battles.” Kel'Thuzad yanked his hands skyward, channeling Jaina's power and his own. The air itself vibrated around him. He began to growl, not words, just will, and as Jaina pressed forward once more, dominating Deathwing's attention, too fearsome to ignore, the lich's voice rose and shattered on a single command.

**“** _**Rrrriiiii-i-i-i-ise!”** _

* * *

This was the last that Anduin knew of his aunt and her lieutenant.

He and the Alliance soldiers from Baradin Hold escaped across the Wetlands while the Scourge held Deathwing at bay, heading south until they reached Ironforge, running in a state of stunned exhaustion.

Days passed and although news that Menethil Harbour still stood reached Ironforge, no one could tell Anduin what had become of Jaina. Most of the Scourge ships escaped and had been spotted passing west of Silverpine on their way north. They appeared to be under the command of their Tauren admiral and the Nerubian Spiderlord, Anu'Shukhet.

Deathwing had been spotted near Blackrock Mountain in the Burning Steppes. Some reports claimed that he was entirely blind now, while others were less prosaic, mentioning only that his armour appeared to be in disrepair and the dragon more ill-tempered than usual.

Anduin returned to Stormwind and forced himself to concentrate on his duties as King.

 

A week later, as the sun was setting, there was a knock on his office door.

“Enter,” he bid the guards. Between them walked a vaguely familiar goblin woman in the tabard of the Azeroth Postal Service. She bowed to him.

“A letter for you, your Majesty,” she said and Anduin recognized her with a rush of hope.

“You were at Baradin Hold!” he said. “You sailed with us to Menethil Harbour.”

“That I did, Majesty,” she said. Then she held out a crumpled letter. “Afraid it's seen some misadventure, sire. There were some dragons, y'see, and some undead. And then some undead dragons.”

Anduin took the letter from her cautiously.

 

_Dear Anduin,_ it began, in Jaina's small, careful writing, _I am alive._

 

Anduin's grin must have been enormously un-Kinglike, but he couldn't contain his relief. The postal goblin smiled back and then looked away to let Anduin have a moment of privacy.

 

_I would say that we are both alive, but Kel'Thuzad has not been such for many years, and we have argued for ten minutes about accuracy of communication versus simplicity of reassurance now. Let that be assurance enough that Deathwing failed to end either of us in the Wetlands._

_There is no doubt that the tale of our battle and escape will be recounted in all manner of popular and wildly incorrect tellings, but at the moment I think the details are less important to you than knowing we are safe. It is a sobering thing, Anduin, to find the limit of your own power. And terrifying too, to find that limit exceeded by your enemy. Despite this truth, however, I am oddly cheered by the encounter. Deathwing too has a limit. I felt it._

_But I must apologize for the messy rescue- I hope that your people, and the people of the Horde to whom you extended truce and shelter, arrived safely at their destinations. The bearer of this letter told us of your flight from Menethil Harbour. I gave her a prodigious tip for her troubles._

_Let me end this missive with an aspiration: that we will stand together again and see Deathwing off with the might of Azeroth at our side._

_Until that day, have hope and reach out._

 

_Ever your ally,_

_Lady Jaina Proudmoore,_

_Lich King of Northrend_

 


End file.
